IN -THE -BOYHOOD 
+  OF-LINCOLN-I- 


HEZEKIAH-BUTTERWORTH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
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THE  RESCUE. 


IN  THE 

BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN 


BY 

HEZEKIAH   BUTTERWORTH 

AUTHOR    OF   THE    LOG    SCHOOL-HOUSE    ON    THE    COLUMBIA 


Let  us  have  faith  that  right  makes  might,  and 
in  that  faith  as  to  the  end  dare  to  do  our  duty. 
PRESIDENT  LINCOLN. 


NEW    YORK 

D.     APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


PEEFACE. 


BEAHAM  LINCOLN  has  become  the  typical 
character  of  American  institutions,  and  it  is  the 
purpose  of  this  book,  which  is  a  true  picture 
in  a  framework  of  fiction,  to  show  how  that 
character,  which  so  commanded  the  hearts  and 
the  confidence  of  men,  was  formed.  He  who  in  youth  unsel- 
fishly seeks  the  good  of  others,  without  fear  or  favor,  may  be 
ridiculed,  but  he  makes  for  himself  a  character  fit  to  govern 
others,  and  one  that  the  people  will  one  day  need  and  honor. 
The  secret  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  success  was  the  "  faith  that 
right  makes  might."  This  principle  the  book  seeks  by  abun- 
dant story-telling  to  illustrate  and  make  clear. 

In  this  volume,  as  in  the  "  Log  School-House  on  the  Co- 
lumbia," the  adventures  of  a  pioneer  school-master  are  made  to 
represent  the  early  history  of  a  newly  settled  country.  The 
"  Log  School-House  on  the  Columbia"  gave  a  view  of  the  early 
history  of  Oregon  and  Washington.  This  volume  collects 
many  of  the  Indian  romances  and  cabin  tales  of  the  early 
settlers  of  Illinois,  and  pictures  the  hardships  and  manly 
struggles  of  one  who  by  force  of  early  character  made  himself 

the  greatest  of  representative  Americans. 

(iii) 


973404 


jv  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

The  character  of  the  Dunkard,  or  Tunker,  as  a  wandering 
school-master,  may  be  new  to  many  readers.  Such  mission- 
aries of  the  forests  and  prairies  have  now  for  the  most  part 
disappeared,  but  they  did  a  useful  work  among  the  pioneer 
settlements  on  the  Ohio  and  Illinois  Kivers.  In  this  case  we 
present  him  as  a  disciple  of  Pestalozzi  and  a  friend  of  Froebel, 
and  as  one  who  brings  the  German  methods  of  story-telling 
into  his  work. 

"  Was  there  ever  so  good  an  Indian  as  Umatilla  ?  "  asks  an 
accomplished  reviewer  of  the  "  Log  School-House  on  the  Co- 
lumbia." The  chief  whose  heroic  death  in  the  grave  of  his  son 
is  recorded  in  that  volume  did  not  receive  the  full  measure  of 
credit  for  his  devotion,  for  he  was  really  buried  alive  in  the 
grave  of  his  boy.  A  like  question  may  be  asked  in  regard  to 
the  father  of  Waubeno  in  this  volume.  We  give  the  story  very 
much  as  Black  Hawk  himself  related  it.  In  Drake's  History 
of  the  Indians  we  find  it  related  in  the  following  manner : 

"  It  is  related  by  Black  Hawk,  in  his  Life,  that  some  time 
before  the  War  of  1812  one  of  the  Indians  had  killed  a  French- 
man at  Prairie  des  Chiens.  *  The  British  soon  after  took  him 
prisoner,  and  said  they  would  shoot  him  next  day.  His  family 
were  encamped  a  short  distance  below  the  mouth  of  the  Ouis- 
consin.  He  begged  permission  to  go  and  see  them  that  night, 
as  he  was  to  die  the  next  day.  They  permitted  him  to  go,  after 
promising  to  return  the  next  morning  by  sunrise.  He  visited 
his  family,  which  consisted  of  a  wife  and  six  children.  I 
can  not  describe  their  meeting  and  parting  to  be  understood 
by  the  whites,  as  it  appears  that  their  feelings  are  acted  upon 
by  certain  rules  laid  down  by  their  preachers ! — while  ours 


PREFACE.  v 

are  governed  only  by  the  monitor  within  us.  He  parted  from 
his  wife  and  children,  hurried  through  the  prairie  to  the  fort, 
and  arrived  in  time.  The  soldiers  were  ready,  and  immedi- 
ately marched  out  and  shot  him  down ! '  If  this  were  not 
cold-blooded,  deliberate  murder  on  the  part  of  the  whites  I 
have  no  conception  of  what  constitutes  that  crime.  What 
were  the  circumstances  of  the  murder  we  are  not  informed ; 
but  whatever  they  may  have  been,  they  can  not  excuse  a  still 
greater  barbarity." 

It  belongs,  like  the  story  of  so-called  Umatilla  in  the 
"  Log  School-House  on  the  Columbia,"  to  a  series  of  great 
legends  of  Indian  character  which  the  poet's  pen  and  the 
artist's  brush  would  do  well  to  perpetuate.  The  examples  of 
Indians  who  have  valued  honor  more  than  life  are  many,  and 
it  is  a  pleasing  duty  to  picture  such  scenes  of  native  worth, 
as  true  to  the  spirit  of  the  past. 

We  have  in  this  volume,  as  in  the  former  book,  freely 
mingled  history,  tradition,  and  fiction,  but  we  believe  that 
we  have  in  no  case  been  untrue  to  the  fact  and  spirit  of  the 
times  we  picture,  and  we  have  employed  fiction  chiefly  as  a 
framework  to  bring  what  is  real  more  vividly  into  view.  We 
have  employed  the  interpretive  imagination  merely  for  narra- 
tive purposes.  Nearly  all  that  has  distinctive  worth  in  the 
volume  is  substantially  true  to  history,  tradition,  and  the  gen- 
eral spirit  of  old  times  in  the  Illinois,  the  Sangamon,  and 
the  Chicago ;  to  the  character  of  the  "  jolly  old  pedagogue  long 
ago" ;  and  to  that  marvelous  man  who  accepted  in  youth  the 
lesson  of  lessons,  that  "  right  makes  might." 

28  WORCESTER  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


CONTENTS 


I. — INTRODUCED 1 

II. — THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES 17 

III. — THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP  AND  THE  MERRY  STORY-TELLERS.    33 

IV. — A   BOY   WITH   A   HEART 55 

V. — JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE. — HER  QUEER  STORIES     .    62 
VI. — JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT  TO  BLACK  HAWK. — 

AUNT  INDIANA'S  WIG 75 

VII. — THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL     .        .        .        .87 
VIII. — THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        .        .        .  100 

IX. — AUNT  INDIANA'S  PROPHECIES 108 

X. — THE  INDIAN  RUNNER 115 

XI. — THE   CABIN  NEAR   CHICAGO 122 

XII.— rTHE   WHITE   INDIAN  OF   CHICAGO 133 

XIII. — LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA. — THE  STATELY  MINUET       .        .  140 

XIV. — WAUBENO  AND  YOUNG  LINCOLN 156 

XV. — THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL 166 

XVI. — THE  SCHOOL  THAT  MADE  LINCOLN  PRESIDENT        .        .        .  177 

XVII. — THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES 184 

XVIII.— MAIN-POGUE 196 

XIX. — THE  FOREST  COLLEGE 202 

XX. — MAKING  LINCOLN  A  "  SON  OF  MALTA  " 214 

XXI.— PBAIRIE  ISLAND 218 

XXII.— THE  INDIAN  PLOT 229 

XXIII.— FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE 236 

XXIV. — "  OUR  LINCOLN  is  THE  MAN  " 251 

XXV. — AT  THE  LAST 265 

(vil) 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACING 
PAGE 


The  rescue Frontispiece 

The  Tunker  schoolmaster's  class  in  manners 14 

Lines  written  by  Lincoln  on  the  leaf  of  his  school-book        .        .        .22 

Story-telling  at  the  smithy 35 

The  home  of  Abraham  Lincoln  when  in  his  tenth  year         .        .        .55 

Aunt  Olive's  wedding 68 

Abraham  as  a  peace-maker 90 

Black  Hawk  tells  the  story  of  Waubeno 118 

A  queer  place  to  write  poetry 160 

Sarah  Bush  Lincoln,  Abraham  Lincoln's  step-mother  .        .        .        .217 

The  approach  of  the  mysterious  Indian 240 

The  Lincoln  family  record 250 

Abraham  Lincoln,  the  man 262 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF 


CHAPTER    I. 
INTRODUCED. 

0 Y,  are  there  any  schools  in  these  parts  ?  " 
"  Crawford's." 

"  And  who,  my  boy,  is  Crawford  ?  " 
"  The  schoolmaster,  don't  yer  know  ?     He's 
great  on  thrashing — on  thrashing — and — and 
he  knows  everything.     Everybody  in  these  parts  has  heard  of 
Crawford.     He's  great." 

"  That  is  all  very  extraordinary.  '  Great  on  thrashing,  and 
knows  everything.'  Very  extraordinary !  Do  you  raise  much 
wheat  in  these  parts  ?  " 

"  He  don't  thrash  wheat,  mister.  Old  Dennis  and  young 
Dennis  do  that  with  their  thrashing- flails." 

"  But  what  does  he  thrash,  my  boy — what  does  he  thrash  ?  " 
"  He  just  thrashes  boys,  don't  you  know." 
"  Extraordinary — very  extraordinary.     He  thrashes  boys." 
"  And  teaches  'em  their  manners.     He  teaches  manners, 
Crawford  does.     Didn't  you  never  hear  of   Crawford?    You 
must  be  a  stranger  in  these  parts." 

"  Yes,  1  am  a  stranger  in  Indiana.     I  have  been  following 

U) 


2  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

the  timber  along  the  creek,  and  looking  out  on  the  prairie 
islands.  This  is  a  beautiful  country.  Nature  has  covered  it 
with  grasses  and  flowers,  and  the  bees  will  swarm  here  some 
day ;  I  see  them  now ;  the  air  is  all  bright  with  them,  my  boy." 

"  I  don't  see  any  bees ;  it  isn't  the  time  of  year  for  'em. 
Do  you  cobble?" 

"  You  don't  quite  understand  me.  I  was  speaking  spir- 
itually. Yes,  I  cobble  to  pay  my  way.  Yes,  my  boy." 

"  Do  you  preach  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  teach  the  higher  branches — like  Crawford.  He 
teaches  the  higher  branches,  does  he  not  ?  " 

"  Don't  make  any  odds  where  he  gets  'em.  I  didn't  know 
that  he  used  the  higher  branches.  He  just  cuts  a  stick  any- 
where, and  goes  at  'em,  he  does." 

"  You  do  not  comprehend  me,  my  boy.  I  teach  the  higher 
branches  in  new  schools — Latin  and  singing.  I  do  not  use  the 
higher  branches  of  the  trees." 

"  Latin  !    Then  you  must  be  a  wizard." 

"  No,  no,  my  boy.  I  am  one  of  the  brethren — called.  My 
new  name  is  Jasper.  I  chose  that  name  because  I  needed 
polishing.  Do  you  see?  "Well,  the  Lord  is  doing  his  work, 
polishing  me,  and  I  shall  shine  by  and  by.  *  They  that  turn 
many  to  righteousness  shall  shine  like  the  stars  of  heaven.' 
They  call  me  the  Parable." 

"  Then  you  be  a  Tunker?  " 

"  I  am  one  of  the  wandering  Brethren  that  they  call 
'  Tunkers.' " 

"  You  preach  for  nothin'  ?     They  do." 

"  Yes,  my  boy ;  the  "Word  is  free." 


INTRODUCED.  3 

"  Then  who  pays  you  ?  " 

"  My  soul." 

"  And  you  teach  for  nothin',  too,  do  ye  ? ." 

"  Yes,  my  boy.     Knowledge  is  free." 

"  Then  who  pays  you  ?  " 

"  It  all  comes  back  to  me.     He  that  teaches  is  taught." 

"  You  don't  cobble  for  nothin',  do  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  cobble  to  pay  my  way.  I  am  a  wayfaring  man, 
wandering  to  and  fro  in  the  wilderness  of  the  world." 

"  You  cobble  to  pay  yourself  for  teachin'  and  preachin' ! 
Why  don't  you  make  them  pay  you?  I  shouldn't  think  that' 
you  would  want  to  preach  and  teach  and  cobble  all  for  nothin', 
and  travel,  and  travel,  and  sleep  anywhere.  Father  will  be 
proper  glad  to  see  you — and  mother ;  we  are  glad  to  see  near 
upon  anybody.  I  suppose  that  you  will  hold  forth  down  to 
Crawford's ;  in  the  log  meetin'-'ouse,  or  in  the  school- 'ouse, 
may  be,  or  under  the  great  trees  over  Nancy  Lincoln's  grave. 
Elkins  he  preached  there,  and  the  circuit-rider." 

"  If  I  follow  the  timber,  I  will  come  to  Crawford's,  my 
boy?" 

"Yes,  mister.  You'll  come  to  the  school-'ouse,  and  the 
meetin'-'ouse.  The  school-'ouse  has  a  low-down  roof  and  a  big 
chimney.  Crawford  will  be  right  glad  to  see  you,  won't  he 
now?  They  are  great  on  spellin'  down  there — have  spellin'- 
matches,  and  all  the  people  come  from  far  and  near  to  hear 
'em  spell — hundreds  of  'em.  Link — he's  the  head  speller — he 
could  spell  down  anybody.  It  is  the  greatest  school  in  all 
these  here  new  parts.  You  will  have  a  right  good  time  down 
there ;  they'll  treat  ye  right  well." 


4  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"Good,  my  boy;  you  speak  kindly.  I  shall  have  a  good 
time,  if  the  people  have  ears." 

"  Ears  !  They've  all  got  ears — just  like  other  folks.  You 
didn't  think  that  they  didn't  have  any  ears,  did  ye? " 

"  I  mean  ears  for  the  truth.  I  must  travel  on.  I  am  glad 
that  I  met  you,  my  lad.  Tell  your  father  and  mother  that  old 
Jasper  the  Parable  has  gone  by,  and  that  he  has  a  message  for 
them  in  his  heart.  God  bless  you,  my  boy — God  bless  you ! 
You  are  a  little  rude  in  your  speech,  but  you  mean  well." 

The  man  went  on,  following  the  trail  along  the  great  trees 
of  Pigeon  Creek,  and  the  boy  stood  looking  after  him.  The 
water  rippled  under  the  trees,  and  afar  lay  the  open  prairie, 
like  a  great  sun  sea.  The  air  was  cool,  but  the  light  of  spring 
was  in  it,  and  the  blue-birds  fluted  blithely  among  the  budding 
trees. 

As  he  passed  along  amid  these  new  scenes,  a  singular  figure 
appeared  in  the  way.  It  was  a  woman  in  a  linsey-woolsey 
dress,  corn  sun-bonnet,  and  a  huge  cane.  She  looked  at  the 
Tunker  suspiciously,  yet  seemed  to  retard  her  steps  that  he 
might  overtake  her. 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  the  latter,  coming  up  to  her,  "  I  am 
not  sure  of  my  way." 

«  Well,  I  am." 

"  I  wish  to  go  to  the  Pigeon  Creek — settlement — " 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  kept  the  way  when  you  had  it." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  I  am  a  stranger  in  these  parts.  A 
boy  has  directed  me,  but  I  feel  uncertain.  What  do  you  do 
when  you  lose  your  way  ?  " 

"  I  don't  lose  it." 


INTRODUCED.  5 

"  But  if  you  were — " 

"  I'd  just  turn  to  the  right,  and  keep  right  straight  ahead 
till  I  found  it." 

"  True,  true ;  but  this  is  a  new  country  to  me.  I  am  one  of 
the  Brethren." 

"Ye  be,  be  ye?  I  thought  you  were  one  of  them  land 
agents.  One  of  the  Brethren.  I'm  proper  glad.  Who  were 
you  lookin'  for  ?  " 

"  Crawford's  school." 

"  The  college  ?  Am  you're  goin'  there  ?  I  go  over  there 
sometimes  to  see  him  wallop  the  boys.  We  must  all  have 
discipline  in  life,  you  know,  and  it  is  best  to  begin  with  the 
young.  Crawford  does.  They  say  that  Crawford  teaches  clear 
to  the  rule  of  three,  whatever  that  may  be.  One  added  to  one 
is  more  than  one,  according  to  the  Scriptur' ;  now  isn't  it  ? 
One  added  to  one  is  almost  three.  Is  that  what  they  call  high 
mathematics?  I  never  got  further  than  the  multiplication- 
table,  though  I  am  a  friend  to  education.  My  name  is  Olive 
Eastman.  What's  yourn  ?  " 

"  Jasper." 

"  You  don't  ?  One  of  the  old  patriarchs,  like.  Well,  I  live 
this  way — you  go  that.  'Tain't  more'n  half  a  mile  to  Craw- 
ford's— close  to  the  meetin'-'ouse.  Mebby  you'll  preach  there, 
and  I'll  hear  ye.  Glad  I  met  ye  now,  and  to  see  who  you  be. 
They  call  me  Aunt  Olive  sometimes,  and  sometimes  Aunt 
Indiana.  I  settled  Pigeon  Creek,  or  husband  and  I  did.  He 
was  kind  o*  weakly ;  he's  gone  now,  and  I  live  all  alone.  I'd 
be  glad  to  have  you  come  over  and  preach  at  the  'ouse,  though 
I  might  not  believe  a  word  on't.  I'm  a  Methody  ;  most  people 


6  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

are  Baptist  down  here,  like  the  Linkuns,  but  we  is  all  ready  to 
listen  to  a  Tunker.  People  are  only  responsible  for  what  they 
know ;  and  there  are  some  good  people  among  the  Tunkers,  I've 
hern  tell.  Now  don't  go  off  into  some  by-path  into  the  woods. 
Tom  Lincoln  he  see  a  bear  there  the  other  day,  but  he 
wouldn't  'a'  shot  it  if  it  had  been  an  elephant  with  tusks  of 
ivory  and  gold.  Some  folks  haven't  no  calculation.  The 
Lincolns  hain't.  Good-by." 

The  Tunker  was  a  middle-aged  man  of  probably  forty-five 
or  more  years.  He  had  a  benevolent  face,  large,  sympathetic 
eyes,  and  a  patriarchal  beard.  His  garments  had  hooks  instead 
of  buttons.  He  carried  a  leather  bag  in  which  were  a  Bible 
and  a  hymn-book,  some  German  works  of  Zinzendorf,  and  his 
cobbling-tools.  We  can  not  wonder  that  the  boy  stared  after 
him.  He  would  have  looked  oddly  anywhere. 

My  reader  may  not  know  who  a  Tunker  was,  as  our  wan- 
dering schoolmaster  was  called.  A  Tunker,  or  Dunker,  was 
one  of  a  sect  of  German  Baptists  or  Quakers,  who  were  for- 
merly very  numerous  in  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio.  The  order 
numbered  at  one  time  some  thirty  thousand  souls.  They 
called  themselves  Brethren,  but  were  commonly  known  as 
"  Tunkards,"  or  "  Dunkards,"  from  a  German  word  mean- 
ing to  dip.  At  their  baptisms  they  dip  the  body  of  a  convert 
three  times ;  and  so  in  their  own  land  they  received  the  name 
of  Tunkers,  or  dippers,  and  this  name  followed  them  into 
Holland  and  to  America.  A  large  number  of  the  Brethren 
settled  in  Germantown,  Pa.  Thence  they  wandered  into  Ohio, 
Indiana,  and  Illinois,  preaching  and  teaching  and  doing  useful 
work.  Like  the  Quakers,  they  have  now  nearly  disappeared. 


INTRODUCED.  7 

Their  doctrines  were  peculiar,  but  their  lives  were  unselfish 
and  pure,  and  their  influence  blameless.  They  believed  in 
being  led  by  the  inner  light;  that  the  soul  was  a  seat  of 
divine  and  spiritual  authority,  and  that  the  Spirit  came  to 
them  as  a  direct  revelation.  They  did  not  eat  meat  or  drink 
wine.  They  washed  each  other's  feet  after  their  religious 
services,  wore  their  beards  long,  and  gave  themselves  new 
names  that  they  might  not  be  tempted  by  any  worldly  ambi- 
tions or  rivalries.  They  thought  it  wrong  to  take  oaths,  to 
hold  slaves,  or  to  treat  the  Indians  differently  from  other  men. 
They  would  receive  no  payment  for  preaching,  but  held  that  it 
was  the  duty  of  all  men  to  live  by  what  they  earned  by  their 
own  labor.  They  traveled  wherever  they  felt  moved  to  go  by 
the  inward  monitor.  They  were  a  peculiar  people,  but  the 
prairie  States  owe  much  that  was  good  to  their  influence.  The 
new  settlers  were  usually  glad  to  see  the  old  Tunker  when  he 
appeared  among  them,  and  to  receive  his  message,  and  women 
and  children  felt  the  loss  of  this  benevolent  sympathy  when  he 
went  away.  He  established  no  church,  yet  all  people  believed 
in  his  sincerity,  and  most  people  listened  to  him  with  respect 
and  reverence.  The  sect  closely  resembled  the  old  Jewish 
order  of  the  Essenes,  except  that  they  did  not  wear  the  gar- 
ment of  white,  but  loose  garments  without  buttons. 

The  scene  of  the  Tunker's  journey  was  in  Spencer  County, 
Indiana,  near  the  present  town  of  Gentryville.  This  county 
was  rapidly  being  occupied  by  immigrants,  and  it  was  to  this 
new  people  that  Jasper  the  Parable  believed  himself  to  be 
guided  by  the  monitor  within. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  he   passed  several  clearings  and 


8  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

cabins,  where  he  stopped  to  receive  directions  to  the  school- 
house  and  meeting-house. 

The  country  was  one  vast  wilderness.  For  the  most  part  it 
was  covered  with  gigantic  trees,  though  here  and  there  a  rich 
prairie  opened  out  of  the  timber.  There  were  oaks  gray  with 
centuries,  and  elms  jacketed  with  moss,  in  whose  high  boughs 
the  orioles  in  summer  builded  and  sang,  and  under  which  the 
bluebells  grew.  There  were  black-walnut  forests  in  places, 
with  timber  almost  as  hard  as  horn.  The  woods  in  many 
places  were  open,  like  colonnades,  and  carpeted  with  green 
moss.  There  were  no  restrictions  of  law  here,  or  very  few. 
One  might  pitch  his  tent  anywhere,  and  live  where  he  pleased. 
The  land,  as  a  rule,  was  common. 

Jasper  came  at  last  to  a  clearing  with  a  rude  cabin,  near 
which  was  a  three-faced  camp,  as  a  house  of  poles  with  one 
open  side  was  called.  Spencer  County  was  near  the  Kentucky 
border,  and  the  climate  was  so  warm  that  a  family  could  live 
there  in  a  house  of  poles  in  comfort  for  most  of  the  year. 

As  Jasper  the  Parable  came  up  to  the  log-house,  which 
had  neither  hinged  doors  nor  glass  windows,  a  large,  rough, 
good-humored-looking  man  came  out  to  the  gate  to  meet  him, 
and  stood  there  leaning  upon  a  low  gate-post. 

"  Howdy,  stranger  ?  "  said  the  hardy  pioneer.  "  "What  brings 
you  to  these  parts — lookin'  fer  a  place  to  settle  down  at?" 

"  No,  my  good  friend — I'm  obliged  to  you  for  speaking  so 
kindly  to  a  wayfarer — peace  be  with  you — I  am  looking  for  the 
school-house.  Can  you  direct  me  there  ?  " 

"  I  reckon.  Then  you  be  going  to  see  the  school  ?  Good  for 
ye.  A  great  school  that  Crawford  keeps.  I've  got  a  boy  and  a 


INTRODUCED.  9 

girl  in  that  there  school  myself.  The  boy,  if  I  do  say  it  now, 
is  the  smartest  fellow  in  all  the  country  round — and  the  laziest. 
Smart  at  the  top,  but  it  don't  go  down.  Euns  all  to  larnin'. 
Just  reads  and  studies  about  all  the  time,  speaks  pieces,  and 
preaches  on  stumps,  and  makes  poetry,  and  things.  I  don't 
know  what  will  ever  become  of  him.  He's  a  queer  one.  My 
name  is  Linkem "  (Lincoln) — "  Thomas  Linkem.  What's 
yourn  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  Jasper  the  Parable — that  is  my  new  name. 
I'm  one  of  the  Brethren.  No  offense,  I  hope — just  one  of  the 
Brethren." 

"  Oh,  you  be — a  Tunker.  "Well,  we'll  all  be  proper  glad  to 
see  you  down  here.  I  come  from  Kentuck.  Where  did  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Pennsylvania,  here.     I  was  born  in  Germany." 

"  Sho,  you  did  ?  From  Pennsylvany !  And  how  far  are  you 
going?" 

"  I'm  going  to  meet  Black  Hawk.  My  good  friend,  I  stop 
and  preach  and  teach  and  cobble  along  the  way." 

"  What !  Black  Hawk,  the  chief  ?  Is  it  him  you're  goin'  to 
see  ?  You're  an  Indian  agent,  perhaps,  travelin'  for  the  State 
or  the  fur-traders  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  trader  of  any  kind.  I  am  going  to  meet 
Black  Hawk  at  Eock  Eiver.  He  has  promised  me  a  young 
Indian  guide,  who  will  show  me  all  these  paths  and  act  as  an 
interpreter,  and  gain  for  me  a  passage  among  all  the  Indian 
tribes.  I  have  met  Black  Hawk  before." 

"  You've  been  to  Illinois,  have  ye  ?  Glad  to  hear  ye  say  so. 
What  kind  of  a  kentry  is  that,  now  ?  I've  sometimes  thought 


10  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

of  going  there  myself.  It  ain't  over-healthy  here.  Say, 
stranger,  come  back  and  stop  with  us  after  you've  been  to  the 
school.  I  haven't  any  great  accommodations,  as  you  see,  but  I 
will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  and  it  will  make  my  wife  and 
Abe  and  the  gal  proper  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  a  preacher. 
Ye  will,  won't  ye,  now  ?  Say  yes." 

"  Yes,  yes,  if  it  is  so  ordered,  friend.  Thank  you,  yes.  I 
feel  moved  to  say  that  I  will  come  back.  You  are  very  good, 
my  friend." 

"  Yes,  yes,  come  back  and  see  us  all.  I  won't  detain  ye  any 
longer  now.  You  see  that  there  openin'  ?  Well,  you  just  fol- 
low that  path  as  the  crow  flies,  and  you'll  come  to  the 
school-'ouse.  Good-day,  stranger — good-day." 

It  was  early  spring,  a  season  always  beautiful  in  southern 
Indiana.  The  buds  were  swelling ;  the  woodpeckers  were  tap- 
ping the  old  trees,  and  the  migrating  birds  were  returning  to 
their  old  homes  in  the  tree-tops.  Jasper  went  along  singing, 
for  his  heart  was  happy,  and  he  felt  the  cheerful  influence  of 
the  vernal  air.  The  birds  to  him  were  prophets  and  choirs, 
and  the  murmur  of  the  south  winds  in  the  trees  was  a  sermon. 
A  right  and  receptive  spirit  sees  good  in  everything,  and  so 
Jasper  sang  as  he  walked  along  the  footpath. 

The  school-house  came  into  view.  It  was  built  of  round 
logs,  and  was  scarcely  higher  than  a  tall  man's  head.  The 
chimney  was  large,  and  was  constructed  of  poles  and  clay,  and 
the  floor  and  furniture  were  made  of  puncheons,  as  split  logs 
were  called.  The  windows  consisted  of  rough  slats  and  oiled 
paper.  The  door  was  open,  and  Jasper  came  up  and  stood  be- 
fore it.  How  strange  the  new  country  all  seemed  to  him ! 


INTRODUCED.  H 

The  schoolmaster  came  to  the  door.  He  affected  gentle- 
manly and  almost  courtly  manners,  and  bowed  low. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Crawford,  may  I  ask  ?  "  said  Jasper. 

"  Andrew  Crawford.  And  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  meet- 
ing?" 

"My  new  name  is  Jasper.  I  am  one  of  the  Brethren. 
They  call  me  the  Parable.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Rock  Island, 
Illinois,  to  meet  Black  Hawk,  the  chief,  who  has  promised 
to  assist  me  with  a  guide  and  interpreter  for  my  missionary 
journeys  among  the  new  settlements  and  the  tribes.  I  have 
come,  may  it  please  you,  to  visit  the  school.  I  am  a  teacher 
myself." 

"  You  do  us  great  honor,  and  I  assure  you  that  you  are 
very  welcome — very  welcome.  Come  in." 

The  scholars  stared,  and  presented  a  very  strange  appear- 
ance. The  boys  were  dressed  in  buckskin  breeches  and  linsey- 
woolsey  shirts,  and  the  girls  in  homespun  gowns  of  most 
economical  patterns.  The  furniture  seemed  all  pegs  and 
puncheons.  The  one  cheerful  object  in  the  room  was  the 
enormous  fireplace.  The  pupils  delighted  to  keep  this  fed  with 
fuel  in  the  chilly  winter  days,  and  the  very  ashes  had  cheerful 
suggestions.  It  was  all  ashes  now,  for  the  sun  was  high,  and 
the  spring  falls  warm  and  early  in  the  forests  of  southern 
Indiana. 

It  was  past  mid  afternoon,  and  the  slanting  sun  was  glim- 
mering in  the  tops  of  the  gigantic  forest-trees  seen  from  the 
open  door. 

"  We  have  nearly  completed  the  exercises  of  the  day,"  said 
Mr.  Crawford.  "  I  have  yet  to  hear  the  spelling-class,  and  to 


12  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

conduct  the  exercises  in  manners.  I  teach  manners.  Shall  I 
go  on  in  the  usual  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  may  it  please  you — yes,  in  the  usual  way — in  the 
usual  way.  You  are  very  kind." 

"You  do  me  great  honor. — The  class  in  spelling,"  said 
Mr.  Crawford,  turning  to  the  school.  Five  boys  and  girls 
stood  up,  and  came  to  an  open  space  in  front  of  the  desk. 
The  recitation  of  this  class  was  something  most  odd  and 
amusing  to  Jasper,  and  so  it  would  seem  to  a  teacher  of 
to-day. 

"  Incompatibility"  said  Mr.  Crawford.  "  You  may  make 
your  manners  and  spell  incompatibility,  Sarah." 

A  tall  girl  with  a  high  forehead  and  very  short  dress 
gave  a  modest  and  abashed  glance  at  the  wandering  visitor, 
blushed,  courtesied  very  low,  and  thus  began  the  rhythmic 
exercise  of  spelling  the  word  in  the  old-time  way : 

"  I-n,  in ;  there's  your  in.  C-o-m,  com,  incom ;  there's  your 
incom ;  incom.  P-a-t,  pat,  compat,  incompat ;  there's  your  in- 
compat ;  incompat.  I-,  pati,  compati,  incompati ;  there's  your 
incompati ;  incompati.  B-i-1,  bil ;  ibil,  patibil,  compatibil,  in- 
compatibil ;  there's  your  incompatibil ;  incompatibil.  I-,  bili, 
patibili,  compatibili,  incompatibili ;  there's  your  incompatibili ; 
incompatibili.  T-y,  ty,  ity,  bility,  ibility,  patibility,  compatibil- 
ity, incompatibility;  there's  your  incompatibility;  incompati- 
bility^ 

The  girl  seemed  dazed  after  this  mazy  effort.  Mr.  Craw- 
ford bowed,  and  Jasper  the  Parable  looked  serene,  and  re- 
marked, encouragingly: 

"  Extraordinary !    I  never  heard  a  word  spelled   in  that 


INTRODUCED.  13 

way.  This  is  an  age  of  wonders.  One  meets  with  strange 
things  everywhere.  I  should  think  that  that  girl  would  make 
a  teacher  one  day ;  and  the  new  country  will  soon  need  teach- 
ers. The  girl  did  well." 

"  You  do  me  great  honor,"  said  Mr.  Crawford,  bowing  like 
a  courtier.  "  I  appreciate  it,  I  assure  you ;  I  appreciate  it,  and 
thank  you.  I  have  aimed  to  make  my  school  the  best  in  the 
country.  Your  commendation  encourages  me  to  hope  that  I 
have  not  failed." 

But  these  polite  and  generous  compliments  were  exchanged 
a  little  too  soon.  The  next  word  that  Mr.  Crawford  gave  out 
from  the  "  Speller  "  was  obliquity. 

"  Jason,  make  your  manners  and  spell  obliquity.  Take 
your  hands  out  of  your  pockets;  that  isn't  manners.  Take 
your  hands  out  of  your  pockets  and  spell  obliquity." 

Jason  was  a  tall  lad,  in  a  jean  blouse  and  leather  breeches. 
His  hair  was  tangled  and  his  ankles  were  bare.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  loss  of  confidence,  but  he  bobbed  his  head  for  manners, 
and  began  to  spell  in  a  very  loud  voice,  that  had  in  it  almost 
the  sharpness  of  defiance. 

"  0-b,  ob;  there's  your  ob;  ob."  He  made  a  leer.  "L-i-k, 
lik,  oblik ;  there's  your  oblik — " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Crawford,  with  a  look  of  vexation  and  dis- 
appointment. "  Try  again." 

Jason  took  a  higher  key  of  voice. 

"  Wall,  0-b,  ob ;  there's  your  ob ;  ain't  it  ?  L-i-c-k,  and 
there's  your  lick — " 

"  Take  your  seat !  "  thundered  Mr.  Crawford.  "  I'll  give  you 
a  lick  after  school.  Think  of  bringing  obliquity  upon  the 


14  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

school  in  the  presence  of  a  teacher  from  the  Old  World ! 
Next ! " 

But  the  next  pupil  became  lost  in  the  mazes  of  the  im- 
proved method  of  spelling,  and  the  class  brought  dishonor  upon 
the  really  conscientious  and  ambitious  teacher. 

The  exercise  in  manners  partly  redeemed  the  disaster. 

"  Abraham  Lincoln,  stand  up." 

A  tall  boy  arose,  and  his  head  almost  touched  the  ceiling. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  linsey-woolsey  •  frock,  with  buckskin 
breeches  which  were  much  too  short  for  him.  His  ankles 
were  exposed,  and  his  feet  were  poorly  covered.  His  face  was 
dark  and  serious.  He  did  not  look  like  one  whom  an  unseen 
Power  had  chosen  to  control  one  day  the  destiny  of  nations,  to 
call  a  million  men  to  arms,  and  to  emancipate  a  race. 

"  Abraham  Lincoln,  you  may  go  out,  and  come  in  and  be 
introduced." 

It  required  but  a  few  steps  to  take  the  young  giant  out  of 
the  door.  He  presently  returned,  knocking. 

"  James  Sparrow,  you  may  go  to  the  door,"  said  Mr.  Craw- 
ford. 

The  boy  arose,  went  to  the  door,  and  bowed  very  properly. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Lincoln.  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
Come  in.  If  it  please  you,  I  will  present  you  to  my  friends." 

Abraham  entered,  as  in  response  to  this  courtly  parrot-talk. 

"  Mr.  Crawford,  may  I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to  you 
my  friend  Abraham  Lincoln  ? — Mr.  Lincoln,  Mr.  Crawford." 

Mr.  Crawford  bowed  slowly  and  condescendingly.  Abra- 
ham was  then  introduced  to  each  of  the  members  of  the  school, 
and  the  exercise  was  a  very  creditable  one,  under  the  untoward 


THE  TUNKER  SCHOOLMASTER'S  CLASS  IN  MANNERS. 


INTKODUCED.  15 

circumstances.  And  this  shall  be  our  own  introduction  to  one 
of  the  heroes  of  our  story,  and,  following  this  odd  introduction, 
we  will  here  make  our  readers  somewhat  better  acquainted  with 
Jasper  the  Parable. 

He  was  born  in  Thuringia,  not  far  from  the  Baths  of  Lie- 
benstein.  His  father  was  a  German,  but  his  mother  was  of 
English  descent,  and  he  had  visited  England  with  her  in  his 
youth,  and  so  spoke  the  English  language  naturally  and  per- 
fectly. He  had  become  an  advocate  of  the  plans  of  Pestalozzi, 
the  father  of  common-school  education,  in  his  early  life.  One 
of  the  most  intimate  friends  of  his  youth  was  Froebel,  after- 
ward the  founder  of  the  kindergarten  system  of  education. 
With  Froebel  he  had  entered  the  famous  regiment  of  Lutzow ; 
he  had  met  Korner,  and  sang  the  "  Wild  Hunt  of  Lutzow,"  by 
Von  Weber,  as  it  came  from  the  composer's  pen,  the  song  which 
is  said  to  have  driven  Napoleon  over  the  Ehine.  He  had  mar- 
ried, lost  wife  and  children,  become  melancholy  and  despond- 
ent, and  finally  fallen  under  the  influence  of  the  preaching  of 
a  Tunker,  and  had  taken  the  resolution  to  give  up  himself 
entirely,  his  will  and  desires,  and  to  live  only  for  others,  and  to 
follow  the  spiritual  impression,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
Divine  will.  He  was  simple  and  sincere.  His  friends  had 
treated  him  ill  on  his  becoming  a  Tunker,  but  he  forgave  them 
all,  and  said  :  "  You  reject  me  from  your  hearts  and  homes.  I 
will  go  to  the  new  country,  and  perhaps  I  may  find  there  a  bet- 
ter place  for  us  all.  If  I  do,  I  will  return  to  you  and  treat  you 
as  Joseph  treated  his  brethren.  You  are  oppressed ;  you  have 
to  bear  arms  for  years.  I  am  left  alone  in  the  world.  Some- 
thing calls  me  over  the  sea." 


IQ  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

He  lived  near  Marienthal,  the  Vale  of  Mary.  It  was  a 
lovely  place,  and  his  heart  loved  it  and  all  the  old  German  vil- 
lages, with  their  songs  and  children's  festivals,  churches,  and 
graves.  He  bade  farewell  to  Froebel.  "  I  am  going  to  study 
life,"  he  said,  "in  the  wilderness  of  the  New  World."  He 
came  to  Pennsylvania,  and  met  the  Brethren  there  who  had 
come  from  Germany,  and  then  traveled  with  an  Indian  agent 
to  Rock  Island,  Illinois,  where  he  had  met  Black  Hawk.  Here 
he  resolved  to  become  a  traveling  teacher,  preacher,  and  mis- 
sionary, after  the  usages  of  his  order,  and  he  asked  Black 
Hawk  for  an  interpreter  and  guide. 

"  Return  to  me  in  May,"  said  the  chief,  "  and  I  will  pro- 
vide you  with  as  noble  a  son  of  the  forest  as  ever  breathed 
the  air." 

He  returned  to  Ohio,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  visit  the 
old  chief  again. 

The  country  was  a  wonder  to  him.  Coming  from  middle 
Germany  and  the  Rhine  lands,  everything  seemed  vast  and 
limitless.  The  prairies  with  their  bluebells,  the  prairie  islands 
with  their  giant  trees,  the  forests  that  shaded  the  streams,  were 
all  like  a  legend,  a  fairy  story,  a  dream.  He  admired  the 
heroic  spirit  of  the  pioneers,  and  he  took  the  Indians  to  his 
heart.  In  this  spirit  he  began  to  travel  over  the  unbroken 
prairies  of  Indiana  and  Illinois. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THOMAS   LINCOLN'S   FAMILY  STORIES. 

HE  red  sun  was  glimmering  through  the  leafless 
boughs  of  the  great  oaks  when  Jasper  again 
came  to  the  gate  of  Thomas  Lincoln's  log  cab- 
in. Mr.  Crawford  had  remained  after  school 
with  the  tall  boy  who  had  brought  "  obliquity  " 
upon  the  spelling-class.  Tradition  reports  that  there  was  a 
great  rattling  of  leather  breeches,  and  expostulations,  and  la- 
mentations at  such  solemn,  private  interviews.  Mr.  Crawford, 
who  was  "great  on  thrashing,"  no  doubt  did  his  duty  as  he 
understood  it  at  that  private  session  at  sundown.  Sticks  were 
plenty  in  those  days,  and  the  will  to  use  them  strong  among 
most  pioneer  schoolmasters. 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  his  sister  accompanied  Jasper  to  the 
log-house.  They  heard  the  lusty  cry  for  consideration  and 
mercy  in  the  log  school-house  as  they  were  going,  and  stopped 
to  listen.  Jasper  did  not  approve  of  this  rugged  discipline. 
"  I  should  not  treat  the  boy  in  that  way,"  said  he  philo- 
sophically. 

"You  wouldn't?"  said  Abraham.  "Why?  Crawford  is 
a  great  teacher ;  he  knows  everything.  He  can  cipher  as  far 
as  the  rule  of  three." 

(17) 


18  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"Yes,  lad,  but  the  true  purpose  of  education  is  to  form 
character.  Fear  does  not  make  true  worth,  but  counterfeit 
character.  If  education  fails  to  produce  real  character,  it  fails 
utterly.  True  education  is  a  matter  of  the  soul  as  much  as  of 
the  mind.  It  should  make  a  boy  want  to  do  right  because  it 
is  the  right  thing  to  do  right.  Anything  that  fails  to  produce 
character  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  a  selfish  reason,  is  a 
mistake.  But  what  am  I  doing — criticising?  Now,  that  is 
wrong.  I  seemed  to  be  talking  with  Froebel.  Yes,  Crawford 
is  a  great  teacher,  all  things  considered.  He  does  well  who 
does  his  best.  You  have  a  great  school.  It  is  not  like  the  old 
German  schools,  but  you  do  well." 

Jasper  began  a  discourse  about  Pestalozzi  and  that  great 
thinker's  views  of  universal  education.  But  the  words  were 
lost  on  the  air.  The  views  of  Pestalozzi  were  not  much  dis- 
cussed in  southern  Indiana  at  this  time,  though  the  idea  of 
common-school  education  prevailed  everywhere. 

Thomas  Lincoln  stood  at  the  gate  awaiting  the  return  of 
Jasper. 

"  I'm  proper  glad  that  you've  come  back  to  see  us  all,"  said 
he.  "  Wife  has  been  lookin'  for  ye.  What  did  you  think  of 
the  school  ?  Great,  isn't  it  ?  That  Crawford  is  a  big  man  in 
these  parts.  They  say  he  can  dpher  to  the  rule  of  three, 
whatever  that  may  be.  Indiana  is  going  to  be  great  on  educa- 
tion, in  my  opinion." 

He  was  right.  Indiana,  with  an  investment  of  some  ten 
million  of  dollars  for  public  education,  and  with  an  army  of 
well-trained  teachers,  leads  the  middle  West  in  the  excellence 
of  her  schools.  Her  model  school  system,  which  to-day  would 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  19 

delight  a  Pestalozzi  or  a  Froebel,  had  its  rude  beginning  in 
schools  like  Crawford's. 

"  Come,  come  in,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  and  led  the  way 
into  the  log-house. 

"  This  is  my  wife,"  said  he  to  Jasper. 

The  woman  had  a  serene  and  benevolent  face.  Her  feat- 
ures were  open  and  plain,  but  there  was  heart-life  in  them. 
It  was  a  face  that  could  have  been  molded  only  by  a  truly  good 
heart.  It  was  strong,  long-suffering,  sympathetic,  and  self- 
restrained.  Her  forehead  was  high  and  thoughtful,  her  eyes 
large  and  expressive,  and  her  voice  loving  and  cheerful.  Jas- 
per felt  at  once  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  woman  of  de- 
cision of  character. 

"  Then  you  are  a  Tunker,"  she  said.  "  I  am  a  Baptist,  too, 
but  not  your  kind.  But  such  things  matter  little  if  the  heart 
is  right." 

"  You  have  well  said,"  answered  Jasper.  "  The  true  life  is 
in  the  soul.  We  both  belong  to  the  same  kingdom,  and  shall 
have  the  same  life  and  drink  from  the  same  fountain  and  eat 
the  same  bread.  Have  you  been  here  long  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "  and  we  have  seen  some  dark 
days.  We  lived  in  the  half-faced  camp  out  yonder  when  I 
first  came  here.  My  first  wife  died  of  milk-sickness  here. 
She  was  Abraham's  mother.  Ever  heard  of  the  milk-sickness, 
as  the  fever  was  called  ?  It  swept  away  a  great  many  of  the 
early  inhabitants.  Those  were  dark,  dark  days.  I  shall  never 
forget  them." 

"  So  your  real  mother  is  dead,"  said  Jasper  to  Abraham. 

"  I  try  to  be  a  mother  to  him,  poor  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln. 


20  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"Abraham  is  good  to  me  and  to  everybody;  one  of  the  best 
boys  I  ever  knew,  though  I  ought  not  to  praise  him  to  his  face. 
He  does  the  best  he  can." 

"  Awful  lazy.  You  didn't  tell  that/'  said  Thomas  Lincoln ; 
"all  head  and  books.  He  is.  I  believe  in  tellin'  the  whole 
truth." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  "  some  persons  work  with 
their  hands,  and  some  with  their  heads,  and  some  with  their 
hearts.  Abraham's  head  is  always  at  work — he  isn't  like  most 
other  boys.  And  as  far  as  his  heart —  Well,  I  do  love  that  boy, 
and  I  am  his  step-mother,  too.  He's  always  been  so  good  to 
me  that  I  love  to  tell  on't.  His  father,  I'm  thinkin',  is  rather 
hard  on  him  sometimes.  Abe's  heart  knows  mine  and  I  know 
his'n,  and  I  couldn't  think  more  on  him  if  he  was  my  own  son. 
His  poor  mother  sleeps  out  there  under  the  great  trees ;  but  I 
mean  to  be  such  a  mother  to  him  that  he  will  never  know  no 
difference." 

"Yes,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "Abraham  does  middlin' 
well,  considerin'.  But  he  does  provoke  me  sometimes.  He 
would  provoke  old  Job  himself.  Why,  he  will  take  a  book 
with  him  into  the  corn-field,  and  he  reads  and  reads,  and  his 
head  gets  loose  and  goes  off  into  the  air,  and  he  puts  the 
pumpkin-seeds  in  the  wrong  hills,  like  as  not.  He  is  great  on 
the  English  Eeader.  I'd  just  like  for  you  to  hear  him  recite 
poetry  out  of  that  book.  He's  great  on  poetry  ;  writes  it  him- 
self. But  that  isn't  neither  here  nor  there.  Come,  preacher, 
we'll  have  some  supper." 

The  Tunker  lifted  his  hand  and  said  grace,  after  which  the 
family  sat  down  to  the  table. 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  21 

"We  used  to  eat  off  a  puncheon  when  we  first  came  to 
these  parts,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln.  "  We  had  no  beds,  and  we 
slept  on  a  floor  of  pounded  clay.  My  new  wife  brought  all  of 
this  grand  furniture  to  me.  That  beereau  looks  extravagant — 
now  don't  it  ? — for  poor  folks,  too.  I  sometimes  think  that  she 
ought  to  sell  it.  I  am  told  that  in  a  city  place  it  would  be 
worth  as  much  as  fifty  dollars." 

There  were  indeed  a  few  good  articles  of  furniture  in  the 
house. 

The  supper  consisted  of  corn-bread  of  very  rough  meal,  and 
of  bacon,  eggs,  and  coffee. 

"Do  you  smoke?"  asked  Mr.  Lincoln,  when  the  meal  was 
over. 

"  No,"  said  Jasper.  "  I  have  given  up  everything  of  that 
kind,  luxuries,  and  even  my  own  name.  Let  us  talk  about  our 
experiences.  There  is  no  news  in  the  world  like  the  news  from 
the  soul.  A  man's  inner  life  and  experience  are  about  all  that 
is  worth  talking  about.  It  is  the  king  that  makes  the  crown." 

But  Thomas  Lincoln  was  not  a  man  of  deep  inward  ex- 
periences and  subjective  ideas,  though  his  first  wife  had  been 
such  a  person,  and  would  have  delighted  Jasper.  Mr.  Lincoln 
liked  best  to  talk  about  his  family  and  the  country,  and  was 
more  interested  in  the  slow  news  that  came  from  the  new 
settlements  than  in  the  revelations  from  a  higher  world.  His 
former  wife,  Abraham's  mother,  had  been  a  mystic,  but  there 
was  little  sentiment  in  him. 

"  You  said  that  you  were  going  to  meet  Black  Hawk,"  said 
Mr.  Lincoln.  "Where  do  you  expect  to  find  him?  He's 
everywhere,  ain't  he  ?  " 


00  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 
iua 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Sac  village  at  Rock  Island.  It  is  a 
long  journey,  but  the  Voice  tells  me  to  go." 

"  That  is  away  across  the  Illinois,  on  the  Mississippi  Eiver, 

isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  the  Sac  village  looks  down  on  the  Mississippi.  It  is 
a  beautiful  place.  The  prairies  spread  around  it  like  seas.  I 
love  to  think  of  it.  It  commands  a  noble  view.  I  do  not 
wonder  that  the  Indians  love  it,  and  made  it  the  burial-place  of 
their  race.  I  would  love  it  myself. 

"  You  favor  the  Indians,  do  you?  " 

"  Yes.     All  men  are  my  brothers.     The  field  is  the  world. 

1  am  going  to  try  to  preach  and  teach  among  the  Sacs  and 
Foxes,  as  soon  as  I  can  find  an  interpreter,  and  Black  Hawk 
has  promised  me  one.     He  has  sent  for  him  to  come  down  to 
Rock  Island  and  meet  me.     He  lives  at  Prairie  du  Chien,  far 
away  in  the  north,  I  am  told." 

"  Don't  you  have  any  antipathy  against  the  Indians, 
preacher  ?  " 

"  No,  none  at  all.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  My  father  was  murdered  by  an  Indian.  Let  me  tell  you 
about  it.  Not  that  I  want  to  discourage  you — you  mean  well ; 
but  I  don't  feel  altogether  as  you  do  about  the  red-skins, 
preacher.  You  and  Abe  would  agree  better  on  the  subject 
than  you  and  I.  Abe  is  tender-hearted — takes  after  his 
mother." 

Thomas  Lincoln  filled  his  pipe.  "  Abe,"  as  his  oldest  boy 
was  called,  sat  in  the  fireplace,  "  the  flue,"  as  it  was  termed. 
By  his  side  sat  John  Hanks,  who  had  recently  arrived  from 
Kentucky — a  rough,  kindly-looking  man. 


>'n 


./Js\     f> 


0*00 

ff 


V 


LINES  WRITTEN  BY  LINCOLN  ON  THE  LEAF  OF  HIS  SCHOOL-BOOK 

IN  HIS  FOURTEENTH  YP:AR. 

Preserved  by  his  Step-mother. 

Original  in  possession  of  J.  W.  Weik. 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  23 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  great-hearted  Mrs.  Lincoln — "  wait  a 
minute  before  you  begin." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  mother  (wife)  ?  " 

"  I'm  just  going  to  set  these  potatoes  to  roast  before  the  fire, 
so  we  can  have  a  little  treat  all  by  ourselves  when  you  have  got 
through  your  story.  There,  that  is  all." 

The  poor  woman  sat  down  by  the  table — she  had  brought 
the  table  to  her  husband  on  her  marriage ;  he  probably  never 
owned  a  table — and  began  to  knit,  saying  : 

"  Abraham,  you  mind  the  potatoes.     Don't  let  'em  burn." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"Mother" — the  word  seemed  to  make  her  happy.  Her 
face  lighted.  She  sat  knitting  for  an  hour,  silent  and  serene, 
while  Thomas  Lincoln  talked. 

THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  STORY. 

"  My  father,"  began  the  old  story-teller,  "  came  to  Kentucky 
from  Virginia.  His  name  was  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  have 
always  thought  that  was  a  good,  solid  name — a  worthy  name — 
and  so  I  gave  it  to  my  boy  here,  and  hope  that  he  will  never 
bring  any  disgrace  upon  it.  I  never  can  be  much  in  this  world ; 
Abe  may. 

"  This  was  in  Daniel  Boone's  day.  On  our  way  to  Ken- 
tucky we  began  to  hear  terrible  stories  of  the  Indian  attacks 
on  the  new  settlers.  In  1780,  the  year  that  we  emigrated  from 
Virginia,  there  were  many  murders  of  the  settlers  by  the 
Indians,  which  were  followed  by  the  battle  of  Lower  Blue 
Licks,  in  which  Boone's  son  was  wounded. 

"  I  have  heard  my  mother  and  the  old  settlers  talk  over  that 
3 


24  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

battle.  When  Daniel  Boone  found  that  his  son  \vas  wounded, 
he  tried  to  carry  him  away.  There  was  a  river  near,  and  he 
lifted  the  boy  upon  his  back  and  hurried  toward  it.  As  he 
came  to  the  river,  the  boy  grew  heavy. 

" '  Father,  I  believe  that  I  am  dying,'  said  the  boy. 

" '  We  will  be  across  the  river  soon,'  said  Boone.    *  Hold  on.' 

"  The  boy  clung  to  his  father's  neck  with  stiffening  arms. 
While  they  were  crossing  the  river  the  son  died.  Oh,  it  was  a 
sight  for  pity — now,  wasn't  it,  preacher?  Boone  in  the  river, 
with  the  dead  body  of  his  boy  on  his  back.  Our  country  has 
known  few  scenes  like  that.  How  that  father  must  'a'  felt ! 
You  f urriners  little  know  these  things. 

"  The  Indians  swam  after  him.  He  laid  down  the  body  of 
his  son  on  the  ground  and  struck  into  the  forest. 

"  It  was  in  this  war  that  Boone's  little  daughter  was  carried 
away  by  the  Indians.  I  must  tell  ye.  I  love  to  talk  of  old 
times. 

"  She  was  at  play  with  two  other  little  girls  outside  of  the 
stockade  at  Boonesborough,  on  the  Kentucky  Eiver.  There 
was  a  canoe  on  the  bank. 

" '  Let  us  take  the  canoe  and  go  across  the  river,'  said  one  of 
the  girls,  innocent-like. 

"  Well,  they  got  into  the  boat  and  paddled  across  the  run- 
ning river  to  the  opposite  side.  They  reached  shallow  water, 
when  a  party  of  Indians,  who  had  been  watching  them,  cun- 
ning-like, stole  out  of  the  thick  trees  'n'  rushed  down  to  the 
canoe  'n'  drew  it  to  the  shore.  The  girls  screamed,  and  their 
cries  were  heard  at  the  fort. 

"  Night  was  falling.     Three  of  the  Indians  took  a  little 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  25 

girl  apiece,  and,  looking  back  to  the  fort  in  the  sunset,  uttered 
a  shriek  of  defiance,  such  as  would  ha'  made  yer  flesh  creep, 
and  disappeared  in  the  timber. 

"  That  night  a  party  was  got  together  at  the  fort  to  pursue 
the  Indians  and  rescue  the  children. 

"  "Well,  near  the  close  of  the  next  day  the  party  came  upon 
these  Indians,  some  forty  miles  from  the  fort.  They  ap- 
proached the  camp  cautiously,  coyote-like,  V  saw  that  the 
girls  were  there. 

" '  Shoot  carefully,  now,'  said  the  leader.  '  Each  man  bring 
down  an  Indian,  or  the  children  will  be  killed  before  we  can 
reach  them.' 

"  They  fired  upon  the  Indians,  picking  out  the  three  who 
were  nearest  the  children.  Not  one  of  the  Indians  was  hit, 
but  the  whole  party  was  terribly  frightened,  leaped  up,  'n' 
run  like  deer.  The  children  were  rescued  unharmed  'n'  taken 
back  to  the  fort.  You  would  think  them  was  pretty  hard 
times,  wouldn't  ye  ? 

"There  was  one  event  that  happened  at  the  time  about 
which  I  have  heard  the  old  folks  tell,  with  staring  eyes,  and 
I  will  never  forget  it.  The  Indians  came  one  night  to  at- 
tack a  log-house  in  which  were  a  man,  his  wife,  and  daughter, 
named  Merrill.  They  did  not  wish  to  burn  the  cabin,  but 
to  enter  it  and  make  captives  of  the  family;  so  they  cut  a 
hole  in  the  door,  with  their  hatchets,  large  enough  to  crawl 
through  one  at  a  time.  They  wounded  Mr.  Merrill  out- 
right. 

"  But  Mrs.  Merrill  was  a  host  in  herself.  Her  only  weapon 
was  an  axe,  and  there  never  was  fought  in  Kentucky,  or  any- 


26  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

where  else  in  the  world,  I'm  thinkin',  such  another  battle  as 
that. 

"  The  leader  of  the  Indians  put  his  head  through  the  hole 
in  the  door  and  began  to  crawl  into  the  room,  slowly — slowly 
—so—" 

Mr.  Lincoln  put  out  his  great  arms,  and  moved  his  hands 
mysteriously. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  what  do  you  suppose  happened  ? 
Mrs.  Merrill  she  dealt  that  Indian  a  death-blow  on  the  head 
with  the  axe,  just  like  that,  and  then  drew  him  in  slowly, 
slowly.  The  Indians  without  thought  that  he  had  crawled 
in  himself,  and  another  Indian  followed  him  slowly,  slowly. 
That  Indian  received  his  death-blow  on  the  head,  and  was 
pulled  in  like  the  first,  slowly.  Another  and  another  Indian 
were  treated  in  the  same  way,  until  the  dark  cabin  floor  pre- 
sented an  awful  scene  for  the  morning. 

"  Only  one  or  two  were  left  without.  The  women  felt  that 
they  were  now  the  masters  in  the  contest,  and  stood  looking 
on  what  they  had  done.  There  fell  a  silence  over  the  place. 
Still,  awful  still  everywhere.  What  a  silence  it  was !  The  two 
Indians  outside  listened.  Why  were  their  comrades  so  still? 
What  had  happened  ?  Why  was  everything  so  still  ?  One  of 
them  tried  to  look  through  the  hole  in  the  door  into  the 
dark  and  bloody  room.  Then  the  two  attempted  to  climb 
down  the  chimney  from  the  low  roof  of  the  cabin,  but  Mrs. 
Merrill  put  her  bed  into  the  fireplace  and  set  it  on  fire. 

"Such  were  some  of  the  scenes  of  my  father's  few  years 
of  life  in  Kentucky ;  and  now  comes  the  most  dreadful  mem- 
ory of  all.  Oh,  it  makes  me  wild  to  think  o'  it!  Preacher, 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  £? 

as  I  said,  my  father  was  killed  by  the  Indians.  You  did  not 
know  that  before,  did  you?  No;  well,  it  was  so.  Abraham 
Lincoln  was  shot  by  the  red-skins.  I  was  with  him  at  the 
time,  a  little  boy  then,  and  I  shall  never  forget  that  awful 
morning — never,  never  ! — Abraham,  mind  the  potatoes ;  you've 
heard  the  story  ahundred  times." 

Young  Abraham  Lincoln  turned  the  potatoes  and  bright- 
ened the  fire.  Thomas  Lincoln  bent  over  and  rested  his  body 
on  his  knees,  and  held  his  pipe  out  in  one  hand. 

"  Preacher,  listen.  One  morning  father  looked  out  of  the 
cabin  door,  and  said  to  mother : 

"  '  I  must  go  to  the  field  and  build  a  fence  to-day.  I  will 
let  Tommy  go  with  me.' 

"  I  was  Tommy.  I  was  six  years  old  then.  He  loved  me, 
and  liked  to  have  me  with  him.  It  was  in  the  year  1784 — I 
never  shall  forget  the  dark  days  of  that  year  ! — never,  never. 

"  I  had  two  brothers  older  than  myself,  Mordecai  and  Jo- 
siah.  "We  give  boys  Scriptur'  names  in  those  days.  They 
had  gone  to  work  in  another  field  near  by. 

"  We  went  to  the  field  where  the  rails  were  to  be  cut  and 
laid,  and  father  began  to  work.  He  was  a  great,  noble-looking 
man,  and  a  true  pioneer.  I  can  see  him  now.  I  was  playing 
near  him,  when  suddenly  there  came  a  shot  as  it  were  out  of 
the  air.  My  poor  father  reeled  over  and  fell  down  dead.  "What 
must  have  been  his  last  thoughts  of  my  mother  and  her  five 
children?  I  have  often  thought  of  that— what  must  have  been 
his  last  thoughts  ?  Well,  Preacher,  you  listen. 

"  A  band  of  Indians  came  leaping  out  of  the  bush  howling 
like  demons.  I  fell  upon  the  ground.  I  can  sense  the  fright 


28  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

now.  A  tall,  black  Indian,  with  a  face  like  a  wolf,  came  and 
stood  over  me,  and  was  about  to  seize  hold  of  me.  I  could  hear 
him  breathe.  There  came  a  shot  from  the  house,  and  the 
Indian  dropped  down  beside  me,  dead.  My  brother  Mordecai 
had  seen  father  fall,  V  ran  to  the  house  V  fired  that  shot  that 
saved  my  life.  Josiah  had  gone  to  the  stockade  for  help,  and 
he  returned  soon  with  armed  men,  and  the  Indians  disappeared. 

"  0  Preacher,  those  were  dark  days,  wasn't  they  ?  Dark, 
dark  days  !  You  never  saw  such.  They  took  up  my  father's 
body — what  a  sight ! — and  bore  it  into  the  cabin.  You  should 
have  seen  my  poor  mother  then.  "What  was  to  help  us  ?  Only 
the  blue  heavens  were  left  us  then.  "What  could  we  do  ?  My 
mother  and  five  children  alone  in  the  wilderness  full  of  savages ! 

"  Preacher,  I  have  seen  dark  days !  I  have  known  what  it 
was  to  be  poor  and  supperless  and  friendless ;  but  I  never 
sought  revenge  on  the  Indians,  though  Mordecai  did.  I'm  glad 
that  you're  going  to  preach  among  them.  I  couldn't  do  it, 
with  such  memories  as  mine,  perhaps  ;  but  I'm  glad  you  can,  V 
I  hope  that  you  will  go  and  do  them  good.  Heaven  bless  those 
who  seek  to  do  good  in  this  sinful  world — " 

"  Abraham,  are  the  potatoes  done  ?  "  said  a  gentle  voice. 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  Then  pass  them  'round.  Give  the  preacher  one  first ;  then 
your  father.  I  do  not  care  for  any." 

The  tall  boy  passed  the  roasted  potatoes  around  as  directed. 
Jasper  ate  his  potato  in  silence.  The  stories  of  the  hardships 
of  this  forest  family  had  filled  his  heart  with  sympathy,  and 
Thomas  Lincoln  had  acted  the  stories  that  he  told  in  such  a 
way  as  to  leave  a  most  vivid  impression  on  his  mind. 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  29 

"  These  stories  make  you  sad,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln  to  Jasper. 
"  They  are  heart-rendin',  and  I  sometimes  think  it  is  almost 
wrong  to  tell  them.  Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  tell  a  story 
that  awakens  hard  and  rebellious  f eelin's  ?  '  Evil  communica- 
tions corrupt  good  manners,'  the  Good  Book  says.  I  sometimes 
wish  that  folks  would  tell  only  stories  that  are  good,  and  make 
one  the  better  for  hearin' — parables  like." 

"  My  heart  feels  for  you  all,"  said  Jasper.  "  I  feel  for 
everybody.  This  life  is  all  new  to  me." 

"Let  us  have  something  more  cheerful  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Lincoln. — "  Abraham,  recite  to  the  preacher  a  piece  from  the 
English  Header." 

"  Which  one,  mother?" 

"  The  Hermit — how  would  that  do  ?  I  don't  know  much 
about  poetry,  but  Abraham  does.  He  makes  it  up.  It  is  a 
queer  turn  of  mind  he  has.  He  learns  all  the  poetry  that  he 
can  find,  and  makes  it  up  himself  out  of  his  own  head.  He's 
got  poetry  in  him,  though  he  don't  look  so.  How  he  ever  does 
it,  puzzles  me.  His  mother  was  poetic  like.  It  is  a  gift,  like 
grace.  Where  do  you  suppose  it  comes  from,  and  what  will  he 
ever  do  with  it  ?  He  ain't  like  other  boys.  He's  kind  o' 
peculiar  some. — Come,  Abraham,  recite  to  us  The  Hermit.  It 
is  a  proper  good  piece." 

The  tall  boy  came  out  of  "  the  flue  "  and  stood  before  the 
dying  fire.  The  old  leather-covered  English  Reader,  which  he 
said  in  later  life  was  the  best  book  ever  written,  lay  on  the 
table  before  him.  He  did  not  open  it,  however.  He  put  his 
hands  behind  him  and  raised  his  dark  face  as  in  a  kind  of 
abstraction.  lie  began  to  recite  slowly  in  a  clear  voice,  full 


30  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

of  a  peculiar  sympathy  that  gave  color  to  every  word.  He 
seemed  as  though  he  felt  that  the  experience  of  the  poet  was 
somehow  a  prophecy  of  his  own  life ;  and  it  was.  He  himself 
became  a  skeptical  man  in  religious  thought,  but  returned  to 
the  simple  faith  of  his  ancestors  amid  the  dark  scenes  of  war. 

The  poem  was  a  beautiful  one  in  form  and  soul,  an  old 
English  pastoral,  by  Beattie.  How  grand  it  seemed,  even  to 
unpoetic  Thomas  Lincoln,  as  it  flowed  from  the  lips  of  his 
studious  son ! 

THE  HERMIT. 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  when  the  hamlet  is  still, 

And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetf ulness  prove ; 
When  naught  but  the  torrent  is  heard  on  the  hill, 

And  naught  but  the  nightingale's  song  in  the  grove  : 
'Twas  thus,  by  the  cave  of  the  mountain  afar, 

While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a  hermit  began ; 
No  more  with  himself  or  with  Nature  at  war, 

He  thought  as  a  sage,  though  he  felt  as  a  man : 

"  Ah,  why,  all  abandoned  to  darkness  and  woe, 

Why,  lone  Philomela,  that  languishing  fall  f 
For  spring  shall  return,  and  a  lover  bestow, 

And  sorrow  no  longer  thy  bosom  inthrall. 
But,  if  pity  inspire  thee,  renew  the  sad  lay, 

Mourn,  sweetest  complainer,  man  calls  thee  to  mourn ; 
0  soothe  him  whose  pleasures  like  thine  pass  away : 

Full  quickly  they  pass — but  they  never  return. 

"  Now  gliding  remote,  on  the  verge  of  the  sky, 

The  moon,  half  extinguished,  her  crescent  displays : 
But  lately  I  marked  when  majestic  on  high 

She  shone,  and  the  planets  were  lost  in  her  blaze. 
Roll  on,  thou  fair  orb,  and  with  gladness  pursue 

The  path  that  conducts  thee  to  splendor  again : 
But  man's  faded  glory  what  change  shall  renew  ? 

Ah,  fool !  to  exult  in  a  glory  so  vain ! 


THOMAS  LINCOLN'S  FAMILY  STORIES.  31 

"  'Tis  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely  no  more  : 

I  mourn  ;  but,  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn  not  for  you ; 
For  morn  is  approaching,  your  charms  to  restore, 

Perfumed  with  fresh  fragrance,  and  glitt'ring  with  dew. 
Nor  yet  for  the  ravage  of  winter  I  mourn  ; 

Kind  Nature  the  embryo  blossom  will  save : 
But  when  shall  spring  visit  the  moldering  urn? 

Oh,  when  shall  day  dawn  on  the  night  of  the  grave  ? 

"  'Twas  thus  by  the  glare  of  false  science  betrayed, 

That  leads  to  bewilder,  and  dazzles  to  blind  ; 
My  thoughts  wont  to  roam,  from  shade  onward  to  shade, 

Destruction  before  me,  and  sorrow  behind. 
'  Oh  pity,  great  Father  of  light,'  then  I  cried, 

'  Thy  creature  who  fain  would  not  wander  from  thee  ! 
Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my  pride: 

From  doubt  and  from  darkness  thou  only  canst  free.' 

"  And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying  away ; 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  forlorn : 
So  breaks  on  the  traveler,  faint  and  astray, 

The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of  morn. 
See  truth,  love,  and  mercy,  in  triumph  descending, 

And  Nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  first  bloom ! 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roses  are  blending, 

And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  the  tomb." 

Mrs.  Lincoln  used  to  listen  to  such  recitations  as  this  from 
the  English  Readers  and  Kentucky  Orators  with  delight  and 
wonder.  She  loved  the  boy  with  all  her  heart.  In  all  the 
biographies  of  Lincoln  there  is  hardly  a  more  pathetic  incident 
than  one  told  by  Mr.  Herndon  of  his  visit  to  Mrs.  Lincoln 
after  the  assassination  and  the  national  funeral.  Mr.  Herndon 
was  the  law  partner  of  Lincoln  for  many  years,  and  we  give  the 
incident  here,  out  of  place  as  it  is.  Mrs.  Lincoln  said  to  her 
step-son's  friend : 

"  Abe  was  a  poor  boy,  and  I  can  say  what  scarcely  one 


32  IN  THE  BOYHOOD   OF  LINCOLN. 

woman — a  mother — can  say,  in  a  thousand :  Abe  never  gave 
me  a  cross  word  or  look,  and  never  refused,  in  fact  or  appear- 
ance, to  do  anything  I  requested  him.  I  never  gave  him  a 
cross  word  in  all  my  life.  .  .  .  His  mind  and  my  mind — what 
little  I  had — seemed  to  run  together.  .  .  .  He  was  here  after 
he  was  elected  President."  Here  she  stopped,  unable  to  pro- 
ceed any  further,  and  after  her  grateful  emotions  had  spent 
themselves  in  tears,  she  proceeded :  "  He  was  dutiful  to  me 
always.  I  think  he  loved  me  truly.  I  had  a  son,  John,  who 
was  raised  with  Abe.  Both  were  good  boys ;  but  I  must  say, 
both  being  now  dead,  that  Abe  was  the  best  boy  I  ever  saw  or 
ever  expect  to  see.  I  wish  I  had  died  when  my  husband  died. 
I  did  not  want  Abe  to  run  for  President,  did  not  want  him 
elected ;  was  afraid,  somehow — felt  it  in  my  heart ;  and  when 
he  came  down  to  see  me,  after  he  was  elected  President,  I  felt 
that  something  would  befall  him,  and  that  I  should  see  him 
no  more." 

Equally  beautiful  was  the  scene  when  Lincoln  visited  this 
good  woman  for  the  last  time,  just  before  going  to  Washington 
to  be  inaugurated  President. 

"  Abraham,"  she  said,  as  she  stood  in  her  humble  back- 
woods cabin, "  something  tells  me  that  I  shall  never  see  you 
again." 

He  put  his  hand  around  her  neck,  lifted  her  face  to  heaven 
and  said,  "  Mother ! " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  OLD   BLACKSMITH'S    SHOP  AND  THE    MERRY  STORY- 
TELLERS. 

JOHNNIE  KONG  APOD' S  INCREDIBLE  STORY. 

HE  country  store,  in  most  new  settlements,  is 
the  resort  of  story-tellers.  It  was  not  so  here. 
There  was  a  log  blacksmith-shop  by  the  way- 
side near  the  Gentryville  store,  overspread  by 
the  cool  boughs  of  pleasant  trees,  and  having  a 
glowing  forge  and  wide-open  doors,  which  was  a  favorite  re- 
sort of  the  good-humored  people  of  Spencer  County,  and  here 
anecdotes  and  stories  used  to  be  told  which  Abraham  Lincoln 
in  his  political  life  made  famous.  The  merry  pioneers  little 
thought  that  their  rude  stories  would  ever  be  told  at  great  po- 
litical meetings,  to  generals  and  statesmen,  and  help  to  make 
clear  practical  thought  to  Legislatures,  senates,  and  councils  of 
war.  Abraham  Lincoln  claimed  that  he  obtained  his  education 
by  learning  all  that  he  could  of  any  one  who  could  teach  him 
anything.  In  all  the  curious  stories  told  in  his  hearing  in  this 
quaint  Indiana  smithy,  he  read  some  lesson  of  life. 

The  old  blacksmith  was  a  natural  story-teller.  Young  Lin- 
coln liked  to  warm  himself  by  the  forge  in  winter  and  sun  him- 
self in  the  open  door  in  summer,  and  tempt  this  sinewy  man  to 

(33) 


34:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

talk.  The  smithy  was  a  common  resort  of  Thomas  Lincoln, 
and  of  John  and  Dennis  Hanks,  who  belonged  to  the  family  of 
Abraham's  mother.  The  schoolmaster  must  have  liked  the 
place,  and  the  traveling  ministers  tarried  long  there  when  they 
brought  their  horses  to  be  shod.  In  fact,  the  news-stand  of 
that  day,  the  literary  club,  the  lecture  platform,  the  place  of 
amusement,  and  everything  that  stirred  associated  life,  found  its 
common  center  in  this  rude  old  smithy  by  the  wayside,  amid 
the  running  brooks  and  fanning  trees. 

The  stories  told  here  were  the  curious  incidents  and  advent- 
ures of  pioneer  life,  rude  in  fact  and  rough  in  language,  but 
having  pith  and  point. 

Thomas  Lincoln,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  said  to 
Jasper : 

"  Come,  preacher,  let's  go  over  to  the  smithy.  I  want  ye  to 
see  the  blacksmith.  We  all  like  to  see  the  blacksmith  in  these 
parts ;  he's  an  uncommon  man." 

They  went  to  the  smithy.  Abraham  followed  them.  The 
forge  was  low,  and  the  blacksmith  was  hammering  over  old 
nails  on  the  anvil. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Thomas  Lincoln ; "  not  doin'  much  to-day.  I 
brought  the  preacher  over  to  call  on  you — he's  a  Tunker — has 
been  to  see  the  school — he  teaches  himself — thought  you'd 
want  to  know  him." 

"  Glad  you  come.  Here,  sit  down  in  the  leather  chair,  and 
make  yourself  at  home.  Been  long  in  these  new  parts  ?  " 

"  No,  my  friend ;  I  have  been  to  Illinois,  but  I  have  never 
been  here  before.  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  country?  "  said  the  blacksmith. 


STORY-TELLING  AT  THE  SMITHY. 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  35 

"  Think  it  is  a  good  place  to  settle  in  ?  Hope  that  you  have 
come  to  cast  your  lot  with  us.  We  need  a  preacher ;  we  haven't 
any  goodness  to  spare.  You  come  from  foreign  parts,  I  take  it. 
Well,  well,  there's  room  for  a  world  of  people  out  here  in  the 
woods  and  prairies.  I  hope  that  you  will  like  it,  and  get  your 
folks  to  come.  We'll  do  all  we  can  for  you.  We  be  men  of 
good  will,  if  we  be  hard-looking  and  poor." 

"  My  good  friend,  I  believe  you.  You  are  great-hearted 
men,  and  I  like  you." 

"  Brainy,  too.     Let  me  start  up  the  forge." 

"  Preacher,  come  here,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln.  "  I  haven't 
had  no  edication  to  speak  of,  but  I've  invented  a  new  system 
of  book-keepin'  that  beats  the  schools.  There's  one  of  them 
there.  The  blacksmith  keeps  all  of  his  accounts  by  it.  I've 
got  one  on  a  puncheon  at  home ;  did  you  notice  it  ?  This 
is  how  it  is ;  you  may  want  to  use  it  yourself.  Come  and  look 
at  it." 

On  a  rough  board  over  the  forge  Thomas  Lincoln  had 
drawn  a  number  of  straight  lines  with  a  coal,  as  are  sometimes 
put  on  a  blackboard  by  a  singing-master.  On  the  lower  bars 
were  several  cloudy  erasures,  and  at  the  end  of  these  bars  were 
initials. 

"  Don't  understand  it,  do  you  ?  Well,  now,  it  is  perfectly 
simple.  I  taught  it  to  Aunt  Olive,  and  she  don't  know  more 
than  some  whole  families,  though  she  thinks  that  she  knows 
more  than  the  whole  creation.  Seen  such  people,  hain't  ye  ? 
Yes.  The  woods  are  full  of  'em.  Well,  that  ain't  neither  here 
nor  there.  This  is  how  it  works :  A  man  comes  here  to  have  his 
horse  shod — minister,  may  be ;  short,  don't  pay.  Nothin'  to  pay 


36  IS  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

with  but  funeral  sermons,  and  you  can't  collect  them  all  the 
time.  "Well,  all  you  have  to  do  is  just  to  draw  your  finger 
across  one  of  them  lines,  and  write  his  initials  after  it.  And 
when  he  comes  again,  rub  out  another  place  on  the  same  lines." 

"  And  when  you  have  rubbed  out  all  the  places  you  could 
along  that  line,  how  much  would  you  be  worth?"  said  the 
blacksmith. 

"  I  call  that  a  new  way  of  keeping  accounts,"  continued 
Thomas  Lincoln,  earnestly.  "  Did  you  ever  see  anything  of 
the  kind  before  ?  No.  It's  a  new  and  original  way.  We  do 
a  great  lot  o'  thinkin'  down  here  in  winter-time,  when  we 
haven't  much  else  to  do.  I'm  goin'  to  put  one  o'  them  new 
systems  into  the  mill." 

The  meetings  of  the  pioneers  at  the  blacksmith's  shop 
formed  a  kind  of  merry-go-round  club.  One  would  tell  a  story 
in  his  own  odd  way,  and  another  would  say,  "  That  reminds 
me,"  and  tell  a  similar  story  that  was  intended  to  exceed  the 
first  in  point  of  humor.  One  of  Thomas  Lincoln's  favorite 
stories  was  "  GL-UK  ! "  or,  as  he  sometimes  termed  it — 

"HOW  ABRAHAM  WENT  TO  MILL. 

"  It  was  a  mighty  curi's  happenin',"  he  would  say.  "  I  don't 
know  how  to  account  for  it — the  human  mind  is  a  very  strange 
thing.  We  go  to  sleep  and  are  lost  to  the  world  entirely,  and 
we  wake  up  again.  We  die,  and  leave  our  bodies,  and  the  soul- 
memory  wakes  again ;  if  it  have  the  new  life  and  sense,  it  wakes 
again  somewhere.  We're  curi's  critters,  all  on  us,  and  don't 
know  what  we  are. 

"  When  I  first  came  to  Indiana  I  made  a  mill  of  my  own — 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  37 

Abe  and  I  did.  'Twas  just  a  big  stone  attached  to  a  heavy  pole 
like  a  well-sweep,  so  as  to  pound  heavy,  up  and  down,  up  and 
down.  You  can  see  it  now,  though  it  is  all  out  of  gear  and 
kilter. 

"  Then,  they  built  a  mill  'way  down  on  the  river,  and  I  used 
to  send  Abe  there  on  horseback.  Took  him  all  day  to  go  and 
come  :  used  to  start  early  in  the  mornin',  and,  as  he  had  to  wait 
his  turn  at  the  mill,  he  didn't  use  to  get  back  until  sundown. 
Then  came  Gordon  and  built  his  mill  almost  right  here  among 
us — a  horse-mill  with  a  windlass,  all  mighty  handy  :  just  hitch 
the  horse  to  a  windlass  and  pole,  and  he  goes  round  and  round, 
and  never  gets  nowhere,  but  he  grinds  the  corn  and  wheat. 
Something  like  me :  I  go  round  and  round,  and  never  seem  to 
get  anywhere,  but  something  will  come  of  it,  you  may  depend. 

"  Well,  one  day  I  says  to  Abraham : 

"  '  You  must  hitch  up  the  horse  and  go  to  Gordon's  to  mill. 
The  meal-tub  is  low,  and  there's  a  storm  a-brewin'.' 

"  So  Abe  hitched  up  the  horse  and  started.  That  horse  is 
a  mighty  steady  animal — goes  around  just  like  a  machine ; 
hasn't  any  capers  nor  antics — just  as  sober  as  a  minister.  I 
should  have  no  more  thought  of  his  kickin'  than  I  should 
have  thought  of  the  millstones  a-hoppin'  out  of  the  hopper. 
'Twas  a  mighty  curi's  affair. 

"  Well,  Abe  went  to  Gordon's,  and  his  turn  come  to  grind. 
He  hitched  the  horse  to  the  pole,  and  said,  as  always, '  Get  up, 
you  old  jade ! '  I  always  say  that,  so  Abe  does.  He  didn't 
mean  any  disrespect  to  the  horse,  who  always  maintained  a  very 
respectable-like  character  up  to  that  day. 

"  The  horse  went  round  and  round,  round  and  round,  just 


38  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

as  steady  as  clock-work,  until  the  grist  was  nearly  out,  and  the 
sound  of  the  grindin'  was  low,  when  he  began  to  lag,  sleepy- 
like.  Abe  he  run  up  behind  him,  and  said, '  Get  up,  you  old 
jade ! '  then  puckered  up  his  mouth,  so,  to  say  '  Gluck.'  "Tis  a 
word  I  taught  him  to  use.  Every  one  has  his  own  horse-talk. 

"  He  waved  his  stick,  and  said  '  Gl — ' 

"Was  the  horse  bewildered?  He  never  did  such  a  thing 
before.  In  an  instant,  like  a  thunder-clap  when  the  sun  was 
shinin',  he  h'isted  up  his  heels  and  kicked  Abraham  in  the 
head,  and  knocked  him  over  on  the  ground,  and  then  stopped 
as  though  to  think  on  what  he  had  done. 

"The  mill-hands  ran  to  Abraham.  There  the  boy  lay 
stretched  out  on  the  ground  just  as  though  he  was  dead.  They 
thought  he  was  dead.  They  got  some  water,  and  worked  over 
him  a  spell.  They  could  see  that  he  breathed,  but  they  thought 
that  every  breath  would  be  his  last. 

" '  He's  done  for  this  world,'  said  Gordon.  '  He'll  never 
come  to  his  senses  again.  Thomas  Lincoln  would  be  proper 
sorry.'  And  so  I  should  have  been  had  Abraham  died.  Some- 
times I  think  like  it  was  the  Evil  One  that  possessed  that  horse. 
It  don't  seem  to  me  that  he'd  'a'  ever  ha'  kicked  Abe  of  his  own 
self — right  in  the  head,  too.  You  can  see  the  scar  on  him  now. 

"  "Well,  almost  an  hour  passed,  when  Abe  came  to  him- 
self— consciousness  they  call  it — all  at  once,  in  an  instant.  And 
what  do  you  think  was  the  first  thing  he  said  ?  Just  this — 
<uk!' 

"  He  finished  the  word  just  where  he  left  it  when  the  horse 
kicked  him,  and  looked  around  wild-like,  and  there  was  the 
critter  standin'  still  as  the  mill-stun.'  Now,  where  do  you  think 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  39 

the  soul  of  Abe  was  between  '  Gl — '  and  '  uk '  ?  I'd  like  to  have 
ye  tell  me  that." 

A  long  discussion  would  follow  such  a  question.  Abraham 
Lincoln  himself  once  discussed  the  same  curious  incident  with 
his  law-partner  Herndon,  and  made  it  a  subject  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  mental  consciousness  after  death. 

It  was  a  warm  afternoon.  A  dark  cloud  hung  in  the  north- 
ern sky,  and  grew  slowly  over  the  arch  of  serene  and  sunny  blue. 

"  Goin'  to  have  a  storm,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  it  were  a  tempest.  "We  generally  get  a  tempest  about 
this  time  of  year,  when  winter  finally  breaks  up  into  spring. 
Well,  I  declare !  there  comes  Johnnie  Kongapod,  the  Kicka- 
poo  Indian  from  Illinois — he  and  his  dogs." 

A  tall  Indian  was  seen  coming  toward  the  smithy,  followed 
by  two  dogs.  The  men  watched  him  as  he  approached.  He 
was  a  kind  of  chief,  and  had  accepted  the  teachings  of  the 
early  missionaries.  He  used  to  wander  about  among  the  new 
settlements,  and  was  very  proud  of  himself  and  his  own  tribe 
and  race.  He  had  an  honest  heart.  He  once  composed  an 
epitaph  for  himself,  which  was  well  meant  but  read  oddly,  and 
which  Abraham  Lincoln  sometimes  used  to  quote  in  his  pro- 
fessional career : 

"  Here  lies  poor  Johnnie  Kongapod, 
Have  mercy  on  him,  gracious  God, 
As  he  would  do  if  he  was  God, 
And  you  were  Johnnie  Kongapod." 

The  Indian  sat  down  on  the  log  sill  of  the  blacksmith's 
shop,  and  watched  the  gathering  cloud  as  it  slowly  shut  out 

the  sky. 

4 


40  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Storm,"  said  he.     "  Lay  down,  Jack ;  lay  down,  Jim." 

Jack  and  Jim  were  his  two  dogs.  They  eyed  the  naming 
forge.  One  of  them  seemed  tired,  and  lay  down  beside  his 
master,  but  the  other  made  himself  troublesome. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Dennis  Hanks ;  and  he  related  a 
curious  story  of  a  troublesome  dog,  perhaps  the  one  which  in 
its  evolutions  became  known  as  "  SYKES'S  DOG,"  though  this 
may  be  a  later  New  Salem  story.  It  was  an  odd  and  a  coarse 
bit  of  humor.  Lincoln  himself  is  represented  as  telling  this, 
or  a  like  story,  to  General  Grant  after  the  Vicksburg  campaign, 
something  as  follows : 

"  '  Your  enemies  were  constantly  coming  to  me  with  their 
criticisms  while  the  siege  was  in  progress,  and  they  did  not 
cease  their  ill  opinions  after  the  city  fell.  I  thought  that  the 
time  had  come  to  put  an  end  to  this  kind  of  criticism,  so  one 
day,  when  a  delegation  called  to  see  me  and  had  spent  a  half- 
hour,  and  tried  to  show  me  the  great  mistake  that  you  had 
made  in  paroling  Pemberton's  army,  I  thought  I  could  get  rid 
of  them  best  by  telling  the  story  of  Sykes's  dog. 

"  '  Have  you  ever  heard  the  story  of  Sykes's  dog  ? '  I  said  to 
the  spokesman  of  the  delegation. 

"'No.' 

"  '  "Well,  I  must  tell  it  to  you.  Sykes  had  a  yellow  dog  that 
he  set  great  store  by ;  but  there  were  a  lot  of  small  boys  around 
the  village,  and  the  dog  became  very  unpopular  among  them. 
His  eye  was  so  keen  on  his  master's  interests  that  there  arose 
prejudice  against  him.  The  boys  counseled  how  to  get  rid  of 
him.  They  finally  fixed  up  a  cartridge  with  a  long  fuse,  and 
put  the  cartridge  in  a  piece  of  meat,  and  then  sat  down  on  a 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  41 

fence  and  called  the  dog,  one  of  them  holding  the  fuse  in  his 
hand.  The  dog  swallowed  the  meat,  cartridge  and  all,  and 
stood  choking,  when  one  of  them  touched  off  the  fuse.  There 
was  a  loud  report.  Sykes  came  out  of  the  house,  and  found 
the  ground  was  strewed  with  pieces  of  the  dog.  He  picked  up 
the  biggest  piece  that  he  could  find — a  portion  of  the  back  with 
the  tail  still  hanging  to  it — and  said  : 

"  '  Well,  I  guess  that  will  never  be  of  much  account  again — 
as  a  dog."1 — '  I  guess  that  Pemberton's  forces  will  never  amount 
to  much  again — as  an  army.'  By  this  time  the  delegation  were 
looking  for  their  hats." 

Like  stories  followed  among  the  merry  foresters.  One  of 
them  told  another  "  That  reminds  me  " — how  that  two  boys 
had  been  pursued  by  a  small  but  vicious  dog,  and  one  of  them 
had  caught  and  held  him  by  the  tail  while  the  other  ran  up  a 
tree.  At  last  the  boy  who  was  holding  the  dog  became  tired 
and  knew  not  what  to  do,  and  cried  out : 

"Jim!" 

"What  say?" 

"  Come  down." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  To  help  me  let  go  of  the  dog." 

This  story,  also,  whatever  may  have  been  the  date  of  it, 
President  Lincoln  used  to  tell  amid  the  perplexities  of  the  war. 
In  the  darkest  times  of  his  life  at  the  White  House  his  mind 
used  to  return  for  illustration  to  the  stories  told  at  this  back- 
woods smithy,  and  at  the  country  stores  that  he  afterward  came 
to  visit  at  Gentryville,  Indiana,  and  New  Salem,  Illinois. 

He  delighted  in  the  blacksmith's  own  stories  and  jokes. 


42  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

The  man's  name  was  John  Baldwin.  He  was  the  Homer  of 
Gentryville,  as  the  village  portion  of  this  vast  unsettled  por- 
tion of  country  was  called.  Dennis  Hanks,  Abraham  Lincoln's 
cousin,  who  frequented  the  smithy,  was  also  a  natural  story- 
teller. The  stories  which  had  their  origin  here  evolved  and 
grew,  and  became  known  in  all  the  rude  cabins.  Then,  when 
Abraham  Lincoln  became  President,  his  mind  went  back  to 
the  quaint  smithy  in  the  cool,  free  woods,  and  to  the  country 
stores,  and  he  told  these  stories  all  over  again.  It  seemed  rest- 
ful to  his  mind  to  wander  back  to  old  Indiana  and  Illinois. 

The  cloud  grew.  The  air  darkened.  There  was  an  occa- 
sional rustle  of  wind  in  the  tree-tops. 

"  It's  comin',''  said  the  blacksmith.  "  Now,  Johnnie  Konga- 
pod,  you  tell  us  the  story.  Tell  us  how  Aunt  Olive  frightened 
ye  when  you  went  to  pilot  her  off  to  the  camp-meetin'." 

"  No,"  said  Johnnie  Kongapod.  "  It  thunders.  You  must 
get  Aunt  Olive  to  tell  you  that  story." 

"  When  you  come  to  meet  her,"  said  the  blacksmith  to 
Jasper.  "  Kongapod  would  tell  it  to  you,  but  he's  afraid  of  the 
cloud.  No  wonder." 

A  vivid  flash  of  lightning  forked  the  sky.  There  followed 
an  appalling  crash  of  thunder,  a  light  wind,  a  few  drops  of 
rain,  a  darker  air,  and  all  was  still.  The  men  looked  out  as  the 
cloud  passed  over. 

"  You  will  have  to  stay  here  now,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
"until  the  cloud  has  passed.  Our  stories  may  seem  rather 
rough  to  you,  edicated  as  you  are  over  the  sea.  Tell  us  a  story 
— a  German  story.  Let  me  put  the  old  leather  chair  up  here 
before  the  lire.  If  you  will  tell  us  one  of  those  German 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  43 

stories,  may  be  I'll  tell  you  how  Johnnie  Kongapod  here  and 
Aunt  Olive  went  to  the  camp-meetin',  and  what  happened  to 
them  on  the  way." 

There  was  a  long  silence  on  the  dark  air.  The  blacksmith 
enlivened  the  fire,  which  lit  up  the  shop.  Jasper  sat  down  in 
the  leather  chair,  and  said  : 

"  Those  Indian  dogs  remind  me  of  scenes  and  stories  unlike 
anything  here.  The  life  of  the  dog  has  its  lesson  true,  and 
there  is  nothing  truer  in  this  world  than  the  heart  of  a  shep- 
herd's dog.  I  am  a  shepherd's  dog.  I  am  speaking  in  parable ; 
you  will  understand  me  better  by  and  by. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  the  story  of  *  THE  SHEPHEED  DOG,'  and 
the  story  will  also  tell  a  story,  as  do  all  stories  that  have  a  soul ; 
and  it  is  only  stories  that  have  souls  that  live.  The  true  story 
gathers  a  soul  from  the  one  who  tells  it,  else  it  is  no  story  at  all. 

"  There  once  lived  on  the  borders  of  the  Black  Forest,  Ger- 
many, an  old  couple  who  were  very  poor.  Their  name  was 
Gragstein.  The  old  man  kept  a  shepherd  dog  that  had  been 
faithful  to  him  for  many  years,  and  that  loved  him  more  than 
it  did  its  own  life,  and  he  came  to  call  him  Faithful. 

"  One  day,  as  the  old  couple  were  seated  by  the  fire,  Frau 
Gragstein  said : 

" '  Hear  the  wind  blow !  There  is  a  hard  winter  comin',  and 
we  have  less  in  our  crib  than  we  ever  had  before.  We  must 
live  snugger  than  ever.  We  shall  hardly  have  enough  to  keep 
us  two.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  the  birds  sing  again. 
You  must  be  more  savin',  and  begin  now.  Hear  the  wind 
howl.  It  is  a  warning.' 

" '  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? '  asked  Gragstein. 


44:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"'There  are  three  of  us,  and  we  have  hardly  store  for 
two.' 

"  '  But  what  would  you  have  me  do  with  Mm  ?  He  is  old, 
and  I  could  not  sell  him,  or  give  him  away.' 

" '  Then  I  would  take  him  away  into  the  forest  and  shoot 
him,  and  run  and  leave  him.  I  know  it  is  hard,  but  the  pinch 
of  poverty  is  hard,  and  it  has  come.' 

" '  Shoot  Faithful !     Shoot  old   Faithful !     Take  him  out 
-  into  the  forest  and  shoot  him  !     Why,  a  man's  last  friends  are 
his  God,  his  mother,  and  his  dog.     Would  you  have  me  shoot 
old  Faithful  ?    How  could  I  ? ' 

"  At  the  words  '  Shoot  old  Faithful,'  the  great  dog  had 
started  up  as  though  he  understood.  He  bent  his  large  eyes 
on  the  old  woman  and  whined,  then  wheeled  around  once  and 
sank  down  at  his  master's  feet. 

"  '  He  acts  as  though  he  understood  what  you  were  saying.' 

"  *  No,  he  don't,'  said  the  old  woman.  '  You  set  too  much 
store  by  the  dog,  and  imagine  such  things.  He's  too  old  to 
ever  be  of  service  to  us  any  more,  and  he  eats  a  deal.  The 
storm  will  be  over  by  morning.  Hear  the  showers  of  the  leaves ! 
The  fall  wind  is  rending  the  forest.  'Tis  seventy  falls  that  we 
have  seen,  and  we  will  not  see  many  more.  We  must  live  while 
we  do  live,  and  the  dog  must  be  put  out  of  the  way.  You  must 
take  Faithful  out  into  the  forest  in  the  morning  and  kill  him.' 

"  The  dog  started  up  again.  '  Take  Faithful  and  kill  him  ! ' 
He  seemed  to  comprehend.  He  looked  into  his  master's  face 
and  gave  a  piteous  howl,  and  went  to  the  door  and  pawed. 

" '  Let  him  go  out,'  said  the  old  woman.  '  What  possesses 
him  to  go  out  to-night  into  the  storm  ?  But  let  him  go,  and 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.       •  45 

then  I  can  talk  easier  about  the  matter.     Did  you  see  his  eyes 
— as  if  he  knew?    He  haunts  me  !     Let  him  go  out.' 

"  The  old  man  opened  the  door,  and  the  dog  disappeared  in 
the  darkness,  uttering  another  piteous  howl. 

"  Then  the  old  couple  sat  down  and  talked  over  the  matter, 
and  Gragstein  promised  his  wife  that  he  would  shoot  the  dog 
in  the  morning. 

"  '  It  is  hard,'  said  the  old  woman, '  but  Providence  wills  it, 
and  we  must.' 

"  The  wind  lulled,  and  there  was  heard  a  wild,  pitiful  howl 
far  away  in  the  forest. 

"  *  What  is  that  ? '  asked  the  old  woman,  starting. 

" '  It  was  Faithful.' 

" '  So  far  away ! ' 

" '  The  poor  dog  acted  strange.  There  it  is  again,  farther 
away.' 

"  The  morning  came,  but  the  dog  did  not  return.  He  had 
never  stayed  away  from  the  old  hut  before.  The  next  day  he 
did  not  come,  nor  the  next.  The  old  couple  missed  him,  and 
the  old  man  bitterly  reproached  his  wife  for  what  she  had  ad- 
vised him  to  do. 

"  Winter  came,  with  pitiless  storms  and  cold,  and  the  old 
man  would  go  forth  to  hunt  alone,  wishing  Faithful  was  with 
him. 

" '  It  is  not  safe  for  me  to  go  alone,'  said  he.  '  I  wish  that 
the  dog  would  come  back.' 

" '  He  will  never  come  back,'  said  the  old  woman.  '  He  is 
dead.  I  can  hear  him  howl  nights,  far  away  on  the  hill.  He 
haunts  me.  Every  night,  when  I  put  out  the  light,  I  can  hear 


46  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

him  howl  out  in  the  forest.  'Tis  my  tender  heart  that  troubles 
me.  'Tis  a  troubled  conscience  that  makes  ghosts.' 

"  The  old  man  tottered  away  with  his  gun.  It  was  a  cold 
morning  after  a  snow.  The  old  woman  watched  him  from  the 
frosty  window  as  he  disappeared,  and  muttered  : 

"  *  It  is  hard  to  be  old  and  poor.     God  pity  us  all ! ' 

"  Night  came,  but  the  old  man  did  not  return.  The  old 
woman  was  in  great  distress,  and  knew  not  what  to  do.  She 
set  the  candle  in  the  window,  and  went  to  the  door  and  called 
a  hundred  times,  and  listened,  but  no  answer  came.  The  silent 
stars  filled  the  sky,  and  the  moon  rose  over  the  snow,  but  no 
answer  came. 

"  The  next  morning  she  alarmed  the  neighbors,  and  a  com- 
pany gathered  to  search  for  Gragstein.  The  men  followed  his 
tracks  into  the  forests,  over  a  cliff,  and  down  to  a  stream  of 
running  water.  They  came  to  some  thin  ice,  which  had  been 
weakened  by  the  rush  of  the  current,  and  there  the  tracks  were 
lost. 

" '  He  attempted  to  cross,'  said  one,  *  and  fell  in.  We  will 
find  his  body  in  the  spring.  I  pity  his  poor  old  wife.  What 
shall  we  tell  her  ?— What  was  that  ? ' 

"  There  was  heard  a  pitiful  howl  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream. 

" '  Look  ! '  said  another. 

"  Just  across  the  stream  a  great,  lean  shepherd  dog  came 
out  of  the  snow  tents  of  firs.  His  voice  was  weak,  but  he 
howled  pitifully,  as  though  calling  the  men. 

"  '  We  must  cross  the  stream  ! '  said  they  all. 

"  The  men  made  a  bridge  by  pushing  logs  and  fallen  trees 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  47 

across  the  ice.  The  dog  met  them  joyfully,  and  they  followed 
him. 

"  Under  the  tents  of  firs  they  found  Gragstein,  ready  to 
perish  with  cold  and  hunger. 

"  '  Take  me  home ! '  said  he.  '  I  can  not  last  long.  Take 
me  home,  and  call  home  the  dog ! ' 

" '  What  has  happened  ? '  asked  the  men. 

" '  I  fell  in.  I  called  for  help,  and — the  dog  came — Faith- 
ful. He  rescued  me,  but  I  was  numb.  He  lay  down  on  me 
and  warmed  me,  and  kept  me  alive.  Faithful !  Call  home  the 
dog!' 

"  The  men  took  up  the  old  man  and  rubbed  him,  and  gave 
him  food.  Then  they  called  the  dog  and  gave  him  food,  but 
he  would  not  eat. 

"They  returned  as  fast  as  they  could  to  the  cottage. 
Frau  Gragstein  came  out  to  meet  them.  The  dog  saw  her 
and  stopped  and  howled,  dived  into  the  forest,  and  disap- 
peared. 

"  The  old  man  died  that  night.  They  buried  him  in  a  few 
days.  The  old  woman  was  left  all  alone.  The  night  after  the 
funeral,  when  she  put  out  the  light,  she  thought  that  she  heard 
a  feeble  howl  in  the  still  air,  and  stopped  and  listened.  But 
she  never  heard  that  sound  again.  The  next  morning  she 
opened  the  door  and  looked  out.  There,  under  a  bench  where 
his  master  had  often  caressed  him  in  the  summer  evenings  of 
many  years,  lay  the  body  of  old  Faithful,  dead.  He  had  never 
ceased  to  watch  the  house,  and  had  died  true.  'Tis  the  best 
thing  that  we  can  say  of  any  living  creature,  man  or  dog,  he 
was  true-hearted. 


48  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  Remember  the  story.  It  will  make  you  better.  The 
storm  is  clearing." 

The  cloud  had  passed  over,  leaving  behind  the  blue  sky  of 
spring. 

"  That  was  an  awful  good  dog  to  have,"  said  John  Hanks. 
"  There  are  human  folks  wouldn't  'a'  done  like  that.'" 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  But  here,  I  declare, 
comes  the  old  woman.  Been  out  neighborin',  and  got  caught 
in  the  storm,  and  gone  back  to  Pigeon  Creek.  We  won't  have 
to  tell  that  there  story  about  her  and  the  wig,  and  Johnnie 
Kongapod  here.  She'll  tell  it  to  you  herself,  elder — she'll 
tell  it  to  you  herself.  She's  a  master-hand  to  go  to  meetin',  and 
sing,  and  tell  stories,  she  is. — Here,  elder — this  is  Aunt  Olive." 

The  same  woman  that  Jasper  had  met  on  his  way  to  Pigeon 
Creek  came  into  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and  held  her  hands  over 
the  warm  fire. 

"  Proper  smart  rain — spring  tempest,"  said  she.  "  Winter 
has  broke,  and  we  shall  have  steady  weather. — Found  your  way, 
elder,  didn't  you?  Well,  I'm  glad.  It's  a  mighty  poor  sign 
for  an  elder  to  lose  his  way.  You  took  my  advice,  didn't  you? 
— turned  to  the  right  and  kept  straight  ahead,  and  you  got 
there.  Well,  that's  what  I  tell  'em  in  conference-meetin's — 
turn  to  the  right  and  keep  straight  ahead,  and  they'll  get  there ; 
and  then  I  sing  out,  and  shout, '  I'm  bound  for  the  kingdom ! ' 
Come  over  and  see  me,  elder.  I'm  good  to  everybody  except 
lazy  people. — Abraham  Lincoln,  what  are  you  lazing  around 
here  for  ? — And  Johnnie  Kongapod  !  This  ain't  any  place  for 
men  in  the  spring  of  the  year !  I've  been  neighborin'.  I  have 
to  do  it  just  to  see  if  folks  are  doin'  as  they  oughter.  There 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  49 

are  a  great  many  people  who  don't  do  as  they  oughter  in  this 
world.  Now  I  am  goin'  straight  home  between  the  drops." 

The  woman  hurried  away  and  disappeared  under  the  trees. 

The  cloud  broke  in  two  dark,  billowy  masses,  and  red  sun- 
set, like  a  sea,  spread  over  the  prairie,  the  light  heightening 
amid  glimmerings  of  pearly  rain. 

Jasper  went  back  to  Pigeon  Creek  with  Abraham. 

"  Isn't  that  woman  a  little  queer  ?  "  he  asked — "  a  little 
touched  in  mind,  may  be  ?  " 

"She  does  not  like  me,"  said  the  boy;  "though  most  peo- 
people  like  me.  I  seem  to  have  a  bent  for  study,  and  father 
thinks  that  the  time  I  spend  in  study  is  wasted,  and  Aunt 
Olive  calls  me  lazy,  and  so  do  the  Crawfords — I  don't  mean 
the  master.  Most  people  like  me,  but  there  are  some  here  that 
don't  think  much  of  me.  I  am  not  lazy.  I  long  for  learning  ! 
I  will  have  it.  I  learn  everything  I  can  from  every  one,  and 
I  do  all  I  can  for  every  one.  She  calls  me  lazy,  though  I  have 
been  good  to  her.  They  say  I  am  a  lively  boy,  and  I  like  to  be 
thought  well  of  here,  and  when  I  hear  such  things  as  that  it 
makes  me  feel  down  in  the  mouth.  Do  you  ever  feel  down  in 
the  mouth  ?  I  do.  I  wonder  what  will  become  of  me  ?  What- 
ever happens,  or  folks  may  say,  elder,  I  mean  to  make  the  best 
of  life,  and  be  true  to  the  best  that  is  in  me.  Something  will 
come  of  it.  Don't  you  think  so,  elder?" 

They  came  to  Thomas  Lincoln's  cabin,  and  the  serene  face 
of  Mrs.  Lincoln  met  them  at  the  door.  A  beautiful  evening 
followed  the  tempest  gust,  and  the  Lincolns  and  the  old 
Tunker  sat  down  to  a  humble  meal. 

The  mild    spring    evening    that    followed  drew  together 


50  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

another  group  of  people  to  the  lowly  home  of  Thomas  Lin- 
coln. Among  them  came  Aunt  Olive,  whose  missionary  work 
among  her  neighbors  was  as  untiring  as  her  tongue.  And 
last  among  the  callers  there  came  stealing  into  the  light  of  the 
pine  fire,  like  a  shadow,  the  tall,  brown  form  of  Johnnie 
Kongapod,  or  Konapod. 

The  pioneer  story-telling  here  began  again,  and  ended  in 
an  episode  that  left  a  strange,  mysterious  impression,  like  a 
prophecy,  on  nearly  every  mind. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  the  story  of  my  courtship,"  said  Thomas 
Lincoln. 

"  Thomas ! "  said  a  mild,  firm  voice. 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  in  that  tone  to  me,"  said  the  backwoods- 
man to  his  wife,  who  had  sought  to  check  him. — "  Sally  don't 
like  to  hear  that  story,  though  I  do  think  it  is  to  her  credit,  if 
simple  honesty  is  a  thing  to  be  respected.  Sally  is  an  honest 
woman.  I  don't  believe  that  there  is  an  honester  creatur'  in 
all  these  parts,  unless  it  was  that  Injun  that  Johnnie  Konga- 
pod tells  about." 

A  loud  laugh  arose,  and  the  dusky  figure  of  Johnnie 
Kongapod  retreated  silently  back  into  a  deep  shadow  near  the 
open  door.  His  feelings  had  been  wounded.  Young  Abraham 
Lincoln  saw  the  Indian's  movement,  and  he  went  out  and 
stood  in  the  shadow  in  silent  sympathy. 

"Well,  good  folks,  Sally  and  I  used  to  know  each  other 
before  I  removed  from  Kentuck'  to  Indiany.  After  my  first 
wife  died  of  the  milk-fever  I  was  lonesome-like  with  two  young 
children,  and  about  as  poor  as  I  was  lonesome,  although  I  did 
have  a  little  beforehand.  "Well,  Sally  was  a  widder,  and  used 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  51 

to  imagine  that  she  must  be  lonesome,  too ;  and  I  thought  at 
last,  after  that  there  view  of  the  case  had  haunted  me,  that  I 
would  just  go  up  to  Kentucky  and  see.  Souls  kind  o'  draw 
each  other  a  long  way  apart ;  it  goes  in  the  air.  So  I  hitched 
up  and  went,  and  I  found  Sally  at  home,  and  all  alone. 

"  '  Sally,'  said  I,  '  do  you  remember  me  ? ' 

" '  Yes,'  said  she,  '  I  remember  you  well.  You  are  Tommy 
Liiiken.  What  has  brought  you  back  to  Kentuck'  ? ' 

" '  Well,  Sally,'  said  I, '  my  wife  is  dead.' 

" '  Is  that  so,'  said  she,  all  attention. 

" '  Yes  ;  wife  died  more  than  a  year  ago,  and  a  good  wife  she 
was;  and  I've  just  come  back  to  look  for  another.' 

"  She  sat  like  a  statue,  Sally  did,  and  never  spoke  a  word. 
So  I  said : 

" '  Do  you  like  me,  Sally  Johnson  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  Tommy  Linken.' 

" '  You  do  ? ' 

" '  Yes,  Tommy  Linken,  I  like  you  well  enough  to  marry 
you,  but  I  could  never  think  of  such  a  thing — at  least  not 
now.' 

" '  Why  ?  ' 

" '  Because  I'm  in  debt,  and  I  would  never  ask  a  man  who 
had  offered  to  marry  me  to  pay  my  debts.' 

"  '  Let  me  hear  all  about  it,'  said  I. 

"  She  brought  me  her  account-book  from  the  cupboard. 
Well,  good  folks,  how  much  do  you  suppose  Sally  owed? 
Twelve  dollars !  It  was  a  heap  of  money  for  a  woman  to  owe 
in  those  days. 

"  Well,  I  put  that  account-book  straight  into  my  pocket  and 


52  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

run.  When  I  came  back,  all  of  her  debts  were  paid.  I  told 
her  so. 

" '  Will  you  marry  me  now  ? '  said  I. 

"  *  Yes,'  said  she. 

"  And,  good  folks  all,  the  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  we 
were  married,  and  we  packed  up  all  her  things  and  started  on 
our  weddin'  tour  to  Indiany,  and  here  we  be  now.  Now  that 
is  what  I  call  an  honest  woman. — Johnnie  Kougapod,  can  you 
beat  that?  Come,  now,  Johnnie  Kongapod." 

The  Indian  still  stood  in  the  shadow,  with  young  Abraham 
beside  him.  He  did  not  answer. 

"  Johnnie  is  great  on  telling  stories  of  good  Injuns,"  said 
Mr.  Lincoln,  "  and  we  think  that  kind  o'  Injuns  have  about 
all  gone  up  to  the  moonlit  huntin'-grounds." 

The  tall  form  of  the  Indian  moved  into  the  light  of  the 
doorway.  His  eyes  gleamed. 

"  Thomas  Linken,  that  story  that  I  told  you  was  true." 

"  What !  that  an  Injun  up  to  Prairie  du  Chien  was  con- 
demned to  die,  and  that  he  asked  to  go  home  and  see  his  family 
all  alone,  and  promised  to  return  on  his  honor?" 

"  Yes,  Thomas  Linken." 

"  And  that  they  let  him  go  home  all  alone,  and  that  he 
spent  his  night  with  his  family  in  weepin'  and  wailin',  and  re- 
turned the  next  mornin'  to  be  shot?" 

"  Yes,  Thomas  Linken." 

"  And  that  they  shot  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  Thomas  Linken." 

"  Well,  Johnnie,  if  I  could  believe  that,  I  could  believe  any- 
thing" 


THE  OLD  BLACKSMITH'S  SHOP.  53 

"  An  Injun  has  honor  as  well  as  a  white  man,  Thomas 
Linken." 

"  Who  taught  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  His  own  heart — here.  The  Great  Spirit's  voice  is  in  every 
man's  heart ;  his  will  is  born  in  all  men  ;  his  love  and  care  are 
over  us  all.  You  may  laugh  at  my  poetry,  but  the  Great  Spirit 
will  do  by  Johnnie  Kongapod  as  he  would  have  Johnnie 
Kongapod  do  by  him  if  Johnnie  Kongapod  held  the  heavens. 
That  story  was  true,  and  I  know  it  to  be  true,  and  the  Great 
Spirit  knows  it  to  be  true.  Johnnie  Kongapod  is  an  honest 
Injun." 

"  Then  we  have  two  honest  folks  here,"  said  Aunt  Olive. 
"  Three,  mebby — only  Tom  Linken  owes  me  a  dollar  and  a  half. 
So,  Jasper,  you  see  that  you  have  come  to  good  parts.  You'll 
see  some  strange  things  in  your  travels,  way  off  to  Eock  Eiver. 
Likely  you'll  see  the  Pictured  Eocks  on  the  Mississippi — drag- 
ons there.  Who  painted  'em  ?  Or  Starved  Eock  on  the  Illinois, 
where  a  whole  tribe  died  with  the  water  sparklin'  under  their 
eyes.  But  if  you  ever  come  across  any  of  the  family  of  that 
Indian  that  went  home  on  his  honor  all  alone  to  see  his  family, 
and  came  back  to  be  shot  or  hung,  you  just  let  us  know^  I'd 
like  to  adopt  one  of  his  boys.  That  would  be  something  to  be- 
gin a  Sunday-school  with  ! " 

The  company  burst  into  another  loud  laugh. 

Johnnie  Kongapod  raised  his  long  arm  and  stood  silent. 
Aunt  Olive  stepped  before  him  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 
The  Indian's  red  face  glowed,  and  he  said  vehemently : 
"  Woman,  that  story  is  true ! " 

Sally  Lincoln  arose  and  rested  her  hand  on  the  Indian's 


54:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

shoulder.  "Johnny  Kongapod,  I  can  believe  you — Abraham 
can." 

There  was  a  deep  silence  in  the  cabin,  broken  only  by  Aunt 
Olive,  who  arose  indignantly  and  hurried  away,  and  flung  back 
on  the  mild  air  the  sharp  words  "  /  don't !  " 

The  story  of  the  Indian  who  held  honor  to  be  more  than 
life,  as  related  by  Johnnie  Kongapod,  had  often  been  told  by 
the  Indians  at  their  camp-fires,  and  by  traveling  preachers  and 
missionaries  who  had  faith  in  Indian  character.  Among  those 
settlers  who  held  all  Indians  to  be  bad  it  was  treated  as  a  joke. 
Old  Jasper  asked  Johnnie  Kongapod  many  questions  about  it, 
and  at  last  laid  his  hand  on  the  dusky  poet's  shoulder,  and  said  : 

"  My  brother,  I  hope  that  it  is  true.  I  believe  it,  and  I 
honor  you  for  believing  it.  It  is  a  good  heart  that  believes 
what  is  best  in  life." 

How  strange  all  this  new  life  seemed  to  Jasper !  How  un- 
like the  old  castles  and  cottages  of  Germany,  and  the  cities 
of  the  Ehine!  And  yet,  for  the  tall  boy  by  that  cabin  fire 
new  America  had  an  opportunity  that  Germany  could  offer  to 
no  peasant's  son.  Jasper  little  thought  that  that  boy,  so  lively, 
so  rude,  so  anxious  to  succeed,  was  an  uncrowned  king ;  yet 
so  it  was. 

And  the  legend  ?  A  true  story  has  a  soul,  and  a  peculiar 
atmosphere  and  influence.  Jasper  saw  what  the  Indian's  story 
was,  though  he  had  heard  it  only  indirectly  and  in  outline.  It 
haunted  him.  He  carried  it  with  him  into  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
A  BOY  WITH  A  HEART. 


[PRING  came  early  to  the  forests  and  prairies  of 
southern  Indiana.  In  March  the  maples  began 
to  burn,  and  the  tops  of  the  timber  to  change, 
and  to  take  on  new  hues  in  the  high  sun  and 
lengthening  days.  The  birds  were  on  the  wing, 
and  the  banks  of  the  streams  were  beginning  to  look  like  gar- 
dens, as  indeed  Nature's  gardens  they  were. 

The  woodland  ponds  were  full  of  turtles  or  terrapins,  and 
these  began  to  travel  about  in  the  warm  spring  air. 

There  was  a  great  fireplace  in  Crawford's  school,  and,  as  fuel 
cost  nothing,  it  was,  as  we  have  said,  well  fed  with  logs,  and 
was  kept  almost  continually  glowing. 

It  was  one  of  the  cruel  sports  of  the  boys,  at  the  noonings 
and  recesses  of  the  school,  to  put  coals  of  fire  on  the  backs  of 
wandering  terrapins,  and  to  joke  at  the  struggles  of  the  poor 
creatures  to  get  to  their  homes  in  the  ponds. 

Abraham  Lincoln  from  a  boy  had  a  tender  heart,  a  horror 
of  cruelty  and  of  everything  that  would  cause  any  creature 
pain.  He  was  merciful  to  every  one  but  the  unmerciful,  and 
charitable  to  every  one  but  the  uncharitable,  and  kind  to  every- 
one but  the  unkind.  But  his  nature  made  war  at  once  on  any 
5  (») 


56  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

one  who  sought  to  injure  another,  and  he  was  especially  severe 
on  any  one  who  was  so  mean  and  cowardly  as  to  disregard  the 
natural  rights  of  a  dumb  animal  or  reptile.  He  had  in  this 
respect  the  sensitiveness  of  a  Burns.  All  great  natures,  as 
biography  everywhere  attests,  have  fine  instincts — this  chivalrous 
sympathy  for  the  brute  creation. 

Lincoln's  nature  was  that  of  a  champion  for  the  right.  He 
was  a  born  knight,  and,  strangely  enough,  his  first  battles  in  life 
were  in  defense  of  the  turtles  or  terrapins.  He  was  a  boy  of 
powerful  strength,  and  he  used  it  roughly  to  maintain  his 
cause.  He  is  said  to  have  once  exclaimed  that  the  turtles  were 
his  brothers. 

The  early  days  of  spring  in  the  old  forests  are  full  of  life. 
The  Sun  seems  to  be  calling  forth  his  children.  The  ponds 
become  margined  with  green,  and  new  creatures  everywhere 
stir  the  earth  and  the  waters.  Life  and  matter  become,  as  it 
were,  a  new  creation,  and  one  can  believe  anything  when  he 
sees  how  many  forms  life  and  matter  can  assume  under  the 
mellowing  rays  of  the  sun.  The  clod  becomes  a  flower ;  the 
egg  a  reptile,  fish,  or  bird.  The  cunning  woodchuck,  that  looks 
out  of  his  hole  on  the  awakening  earth  and  blue  sky,  seems 
almost  to  have  a  sense  of  the  miracle  that  has  been  wrought. 
The  boy  who  throws  a  stone  at  him,  to  drive  him  back  into  the 
earth,  seems  less  sensible  of  nature  than  he.  It  is  a  pleasing 
sight  to  see  the  little  creature,  as  he  stands  on  his  haunches, 
wondering,  and  the  brain  of  a  young  "Webster  would  naturally 
seek  to  let  such  a  groundling  have  all  his  right  of  birth. 

One  day,  when  the  blue  spring  skies  were  beginning  to  glow, 
Abraham  went  out  to  play  with  his  companions.  It  was  one 


A  BOY   WITH  A  HEART.  57 

of  his  favorite  amusements  to  declaim  from  a  stump.  He 
would  sometimes  in  this  way  recite  long  selections  from  the 
school  Eeader  and  Speaker. 

He  had  written  a  composition  at  school  on  the  defense  of 
the  rights  of  dumb  animals,  and  there  was  one  piece  in  the 
school  Eeader  in  which  he  must  have  found  a  sympathetic 
chord,  and  which  was  probably  one  of  those  that  he  loved  to 
recite.  It  was  written  by  the  sad  poet  Cowper,  and  began  thus  : 

"  I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
( Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail, 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path ; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarned, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live." 

As  Abraham  and  his  companions  were  playing  in  the  warm 
sun,  one  said : 

"  Make  a  speech  for  us,  Abe.  Hip,  hurrah !  You've  only  to 
nibble  a  pen  to  make  poetry,  and  only  to  mount  a  stump  to  be 
a  speaker.  Now,  Abe,  speak  for  the  cause  of  the  people,  or 
anybody's  cause.  Give  it  to  us  strong,  and  we  will  do  the 
cheering." 

Abraham  mounted  a  stump  in  the  school-grounds,  on 
which  he  had  often  declaimed  before.  He  felt  something 
stirring  within  him,  half -fledged  wings  of  his  soul,  that  waited 
a  cause.  He  would  imitate  the  few  preachers  and  speakers 
that  he  had  heard — even  an  old  Kentucky  preacher  named 
Elkins,  whom  his  own  mother  had  loved,  and  whose  teachings 
the  good  woman  had  followed  in  her  short  and  melancholy  life. 


58  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

He  began  his  speech,  throwing  up  his  long  arms,  and  lifting 
at  proper  periods  his  coon-skin  cap.  The  scholars  cheered  as 
he  waxed  earnest.  In  the  midst  of  the  speech  a  turtle  came 
creeping  into  the  grounds. 

"  Hello ! "  said  one  of  the  boys,  "  here's  another  turtle  come 
to  school !  He,  too,  has  seen  the  need  of  learning." 

The  terrapin  crawled  along  awkwardly  toward  the  house,  his 
head  protruding  from  his  shell,  and  his  tail  moving  to  and  iro. 

At  this  point  young  Abraham  grew  loud  and  dramatic. 
The  boys  raised  a  shout,  and  the  girls  waved  their  hoods. 

In  the  midst  of  the  enthusiasm,  one  of  the  boys  seized  the 
turtle  by  the  tail  and  slung  it  around  his  head,  as  an  evidence 
of  his  delight  at  the  ardor  of  the  speaker. 

"  Throw  it  at  him,"  said  one  of  the  scholars.  "  Johnson 
once  threw  a  turtle  at  him,  when  he  was  preachin'  to  his  sister, 
and  it  set  him  to  runnin'  on  like  a  minister." 

Abraham  was  accustomed  to  preach  to  the  young  members 
of  his  family.  He  would  do  the  preaching,  and  his  sister  the 
weeping ;  and  he  sometimes  became  so  much  affected  by  his  own 
discourses  that  he  would  weep  with  her,  and  they  would  have  a 
very  "  moving  service,"  as  such  a  scene  was  called. 

The  boy  swung  the  turtle  over  his  head  again,  and  at  last 
let  go  of  it  in  the  air,  so  as  to  project  it  toward  Abraham. 

The  poor  reptile  fell  crushed  at  the  foot  of  the  stump  and 
writhed  in  pain. 

Abraham  ceased  to  speak.  He  looked  down  on  the  piti- 
ful sight  of  suffering,  and  his  heart  yearned  over  the  helpless 
creature,  and  then  his  brain  became  fired,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
with  rage. 


A  BOY  WITH  A  HEART.  59 

"  Who  did  that  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Brute !  coward !  wretch ! " 
He  looked  down  again,  and  saw  the  reptile  trying  to  move  away 
with  its  broken  shell.  His  anger  turned  to  pity.  He  began  to 
expostulate  against  all  such  heartlessness  to  the  animal  world 
as  the  scene  exhibited  before  him.  The  poor  turtle  again  tried 
to  move  away,  his  head  just  protruding,  looking  for  some  way 
out  of  the  world  that  would  deny  him  his  right  to  the  sunshine 
and  the  streams.  The  young  orator  saw  it  all ;  his  lip  curled 
bitterly,  and  his  words  burned.  He  awakened  such  a  sympathy 
for  the  reptile,  and  such  a  feeling  of  resentment  against  the 
hand  which  had  ruined  this  little  life,  that  the  offender  shrank 
away  from  the  scene,  calling  out  defiantly  : 

"  Come  away,  and  let  him  talk.    He's  only  chicken-hearted." 

The  scholars  knew  that  there  was  no  cowardice  in  the 
heart  of  Lincoln.  They  felt  the  force  of  the  scene.  The  boys 
and  girls  of  Andrew  Crawford's  school  never  forgot  the  pleas 
that  Abraham  used  to  make  for  the  animals  and  reptiles  of 
the  woods  and  streams. 

Nearly  every  youth  exhibits  his  leading  trait  or  character- 
istic in  his  school-days. 

"  The  tenor  of  our  whole  lives,"  said  an  English  poet,  "  is 
what  we  make  it  in  the  first  five  years  after  we  become  our 
masters  " ;  and  a  wiser  than  he  has  said,  "  The  thing  that  has 
been  is,  and  God  requireth  the  past."  Columbus  on  the  quays 
of  Genoa ;  Zinzendorf  forming  among  his  little  companions  the 
order  of  the  "  Grain  of  Mustard-Seed  " ;  the  poets  who  "  lisped 
in  numbers  " ;  the  boy  statesmanship  of  Cromwell ;  and  the  early 
aspiration  of  nearly  every  great  leader  of  mankind — all  showed 
the  current  of  the  life-stream,  and  it  is  the  current  alone  that 


60  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

knows  and  prophesies  the  future.  When  Abraham  Lincoln 
fell,  the  world  uncovered  its  head.  Thrones  were  sorrowful, 
and  humanity  wept.  Yet  his  earliest  rostrum  was  a  stump, 
and  his  cause  the  natural  rights  of  the  voiceless  inhabitants 
of  the  woods  and  streams.  The  heart  that  throbbed  for  hu- 
manity, and  that  won  the  heart  of  the  world,  found  its  first 
utterance  in  defense  of  the  principles  of  the  birds'-nest  com- 
mandment. It  was  a  beginning  of  self-education  worthy  of  the 
thought  of  a  Pestalozzi.  It  was  a  prophecy. 

As  the  young  advocate  of  the  rights  and  feelings  of  the 
dumb  creation  was  ending  his  fiery  discourse,  the  buttonless 
Tunker,  himself  a  disciple  of  Pestalozzi,  came  into  the  school- 
grounds  and  read  the  meaning  of  the  scene.  Jasper  saw  the 
soul  of  things,  and  turned  always  from  the  outward  expressions 
of  life  to  the  inward  motive.  He  read  the  true  character  of  the 
boy  in  buckskin  breeches,  human  heart,  and  fluent  tongue.  He 
sat  down  on  the  log  step  of  the  school-house  in  silence,  and  Mr. 
Crawford  presently  came  out  with  a  quill  pen  behind  his  ear, 
and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  That  boy  has  boen  teaching  what  you  and  I  ought  first  to 
teach,"  said  Jasper. 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Crawford. 

"  The  heart !  What  is  head-learning  worth,  if  the  heart  is 
left  uneducated  ?  As  Pestalozzi  used  to  say,  The  soul  is  the  true 
end  of  all  education.  Religion  itself  is  a  failure,  without  right 
character." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  teach  morals  as  a  science,  would  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  train  the  heart  to  feel,  and  the  soul  to  love  to  be 
just  and  do  right,  and  make  obedience  to  the  moral  sense  the 


A  BOY  WITH  A  HEAET.  61 

habit  of  life.  This  can  best  be  done  at  the  school  age,  and  I 
tell  you  that  this  is  the  highest  education.  A  boy  who  can 
spell  all  the  words  in  the  spelling-book,  and  bound  all  the 
countries  in  the  world,  and  repeat  all  the  dates  of  history,  and 
yet  who  could  have  the  heart  to  crush  a  turtle,  has  not  been 
properly  educated." 

"  Then  your  view  is  that  the  end  of  education  is  to  make  a 
young  person  do  right?" 

"  No,  my  good  friend,  pardon  me  if  I  speak  plain.  The  end 
of  education  is  not  to  make  young  people  do  right,  but  to  train 
the  young  heart  to  love  to  do  right ;  to  make  right  doing  the 
nature  and  habit  of  life." 

"  How  would  you  begin  ?  " 

"  As  that  boy  has  begun.  He  has  made  every  heart  on  the 
ground  feel  for  that  broken-shelled  turtle.  That  boy  will  one 
day  become  a  leader  among  men.  He  has  a  heart.  The  head 
may  make  friends,  but  only  the  heart  can  hold  them.  It  is  the 
heart-power  that  serves  and  rules.  The  best  thing  that  can  be 
said  of  any  one  is,  '  He  is  true-hearted.'  I  like  that  boy.  He  is 
true-hearted.  His  first  client  a  turtle,  it  may  not  be  his  last. 
Train  him  well.  He  will  honor  you  some  day." 

The  boys  took  the  turtle  to  the  pond  and  left  him  on  the 
bank.  Jasper  watched  them.  He  then  turned  to  the  back- 
woods teacher,  and  said : 

"That,  sir,  is  the  result  of  right  education.  First  teach 
character ;  second,  life ;  third,  books.  Let  education  begin  in 
the  heart,  and  everybody  made  to  feel  that  right  makes  might." 


CHAPTER  V. 
JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.— HER  QUEER  STORIES. 

TOT  OLIVE  EASTMAN  had  made  herself  a 
relative  to  every  one  living  between  the  two 
Pigeon  Creeks.  She  had  formed  this  large  ac- 
quaintance with  the  pioneers  by  attending  the 
camp-meetings  of  the  Methodists  and  the  four- 


days'  meetings  of  the  Baptists  in  southern  Indiana,  and  the 
school-house  meetings  everywhere.  She  was  a  widow,  was  full 
of  rude  energy  and  benevolence,  had  a  sharp  tongue,  a  kindly 
heart,  and  a  measure  of  good  sense.  But  she  was  "  far  from 
perfect,"  as  she  used  to  very  humbly  acknowledge  in  the  many 
pioneer  meetings  that  she  attended. 

"  I  make  mistakes  sometimes,"  she  used  to  say,  "  and  it  is 
because  I  am  a  fallible  creatur'." 

She  was  an  always  busy  woman,  and  the  text  of  her  life  was 
"  Work,"  and  her  practice  was  in  harmony  with  her  teaching. 

"  Work,  work,  my  friends  and  brethren,"  she  once  said  in 
the  log  school-house  meeting.  "  Work  while  the  day  is  passin'. 
We's  all  children  of  the  clay.  To-day  we're  here  smart  as 
pepper-grass,  and  to-morrer  we're  gone  like  the  cucumbers  of 
the  ground.  Up,  and  be  doin' — up,  and  be  doin' !  " 

One  morning  Jasper  the  Tunker  appeared  in  the  clear- 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.        63 

ing  before  her  cabin.  She  stood  in  the  door  as  he  appeared, 
shading  her  eyes  with  one  hand  and  holding  a  birch  broom 
in  the  other.  The  sunset  was  flooding  the  swollen  creek  in  the 
distance,  and  shimmering  in  the  tops  of  the  ancient  trees. 
Jasper  turned  to  the  door. 

"This  is  a  lovely  morning,"  said  he.  "The  heavens  are 
blue  above  us.  I  hope  that  you  are  well." 

"  The  top  of  the  morning  to  you !  You  are  a  stranger  that 
I  met  the  other  day,  I  suppose.  I've  been  hopin'  you'd  come 
along  and  see  me.  Where  do  you  hail  from,  anyway?  Come 
in  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  I  am  a  German,"  said  Jasper,  entering.  "  I  came  from 
Germany  to  Pennsylvania,  and  went  from  there  to  Ohio,  and 
now  I  am  here,  as  you  see." 

"How  far  are  you  goin'?  Or  are  you  just  goin'  to  stop 
with  us  here  ?  Southern  Injiany  is  a  goodly  country.  'Tis 
all  land  around  here,  for  millions  of  miles,  and  free  as  the  air. 
Perhaps  you'll  stop  with  us." 

"  I  am  going  to  Hock  Island,  on  the  Mississippi  River, 
across  the  prairie  of  the  Illinois." 

"  Who  are  you  now,  may  it  please  you  ?  What's  your  call- 
in'  ?  Tell  me  all  about  it,  now.  I  want  to  know." 

"  I  am  one  of  the  Brethren,  as  I  said.  I  preach  and  teach 
and  cobble.  I  came  here  now  to  ask  you  if  you  had  any  shoe- 
making  for  me  to  do." 

"  One  of  the  Tunkers — a  Tunker,  one  o'  them.  Don't  be- 
long to  no  sect,  nor  nothin',  but  just  preaches  to  everybody  as 
though  everybody  was  alike,  and  wanders  about  everywhere,  as 
if  you  owned  the  whole  world,  like  the  air.  I've  seen  several 


(54.  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Tuukers  in  my  day.  They  are  becomin'  thick  in  these  woods. 
Well,  I  believe  such  as  you  mean  well — let's  be  charitable ;  we 
haven't  long  to  live  in  this  troublesome  world.  I'm  fryin' 
doughnuts;  am  just  waitin'  for  the  fat  to  heat.  Hope  you 
didn't  think  that  I  was  wastin'  time,  standin'  there  at  the 
door  ?  I'll  give  you  some  doughnuts  as  soon  as  the  fat  is  hot — 
fresh  ones  and  good  ones,  too.  I  make  good  doughnuts,  just 
such  as  Martha  used  to  make  in  Jerusalem.  I've  fried  dough- 
nuts for  a  hundred  ministers  in  my  day,  and  they  all  say  that 
my  doughnuts  are  good,  whatever  they  may  think  of  me. 
Come  in.  I'm  proper  glad  to  see  ye." 

Jasper  sat  down  in  the  kitchen  of  the  cabin.  The  room 
was  large,  and  had  a  delightful  atmosphere  of  order  and  neat- 
ness. Over  the  fire  swung  an  immense  iron  crane,  and  on  the 
crane  were  pot-hooks  of  various  sizes,  and  on  one  of  these  hung 
a  kettle  of  bubbling  fat. 

The  table  was  spread  with  a  large  dish  of  dough,  a  board 
called  a  kneading-board,  a  rolling-pin,  and  a  large  sheet  of 
dough  which  had  been  rolled  into  its  present  form  by  the  roll- 
ing-pin, which  utensil  was  white  with  flour. 

"  I  knew  you  were  comin',"  said  Aunt  Olive.  "  I  dropped 
my  rollin'-pin  this  mornin' ;  it's  a  sure  sign.  You  said  that 
you  are  goin'  to  Rock  Island.  The  Injuns  live  there,  don't 
they  ?  What  are  ye  goin'  there  for  ?  " 

"  Black  Hawk  has  invited  me.  He  has  promised  to  let  me 
have  an  Indian  guide,  or  runner,  who  can  speak  English  and 
interpret.  I'm  going  to  teach  among  the  tribes,  the  Lord  will- 
ing, and  I  want  a  guide  and  an  interpreter." 

"  Black  Hawk  ?    He  was  born  down  in  Kaskaskia,  the  old 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.  C5 

Jesuit  town,  'way  back  almost  a  century  ago,  wasn't  lie  ?  Or 
was  it  in  the  Sac  village  ?  He  was  a  Pottawattomie,  I'm  told, 
and  then  I've  heard  he  wasn't.  Now  he's  chief  of  the  Sacs 
and  Foxes.  I  saw  him  once  at  a  camp-meetin'.  His  face  is 
black  as  that  pot  and  these  hooks  and  trummels.  How  he 
did  skeer  me !  Do  you  dare  to  trust  him  ?  Like  enough  he'll 
kill  ye,  some  day.  I  don't  trust  no  Injuns.  Where  did 
you  stay  last  night  ?  " 

"  At  Mr.  Lincoln's/' 

"Tom  Linken's.  Pretty  poor  accommodations  you  must 
have  had.  They're  awful  poor  folks.  Mrs.  Linken  is  a  nice 
woman,  but  Tom  he  is  shiftless,  and  he's  bringin'  up  that  great 
tall  boy  Abe  to  be  lazy,  too.  That  boy  is  good  to  his  mother, 
but  he  all  runs  to  books  and  larnin',  just  as  some  turnips  all 
run  to  tops.  You've  seen  'em  so,  haven't  ye  ?  " 

"  But  the  boy  has  got  character,  and  character  is  everything 
in  this  world." 

"  Did  you  notice  anything  peculiarsome  about  him  ?  His 
cousin,  Dennis  Hanks,  says  there's  something  peculiarsome 
about  him.  I  never  did." 

"  My  good  woman,  do  you  believe  in  gifts  ?  " 

"  No,  I  believe  in  works.  I  believe  in  people  whose  two  fists 
are  full  of  works.  Mine  are,  like  the  Marthas  of  old." 

Aunt  Olive  rolled  up  her  sleeves,  and  began  to  cut  the  thin 
layer  of  dough  with  a  knife  into  long  strips,  which  she  twisted. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  make  some  twisted  doughnuts,"  she  said, 
"  seein'  you're  a  preacher  and  a  teacher." 

"  I  think  that  young  lad  Lincoln  has  some  inborn  gift,  and 
that  he  will  become  a  leader  among  men.  It  is  he  who  is  will- 


66  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

ing  to  serve  that  rules,  and  they  who  deny  themselves  the  most 
receive  the  most  from  Heaven  and  men.  He  has  sympathetic 
wisdom.  I  can  see  it.  There  is  something  peculiar  about  him. 
He  is  true." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  talk  that  way.  He's  lazy,  and  he  hain't  got 
any  calculation,  V  he'll  never  amount  to  shucks,  nor  nothin'. 
He's  like  his  father,  his  head  in  the  air.  Somethin'  don't  come 
of  nothin'  in  this  world ;  corn  don't  grow  unless  you  plant  it ; 
and  when  you  add  nothin'  to  nothin'  it  just  makes  nothin'. 

"  Well,  preacher,  you've  told  me  who  you  are,  and  now  I'll 
tell  ye  who  I  am.  But  first,  let  me  say,  I'll  have  a  pair  of  shoes. 
I  have  my  own  last.  I'll  get  it  for  you,  and  then  you  can  be 
peggin'  away,  so  as  not  to  lose  any  time.  It  is  wicked  to  waste 
time.  '  "Work '  is  my  motto.  That's  what  time  is  made  for." 

Aunt  Olive  got  her  last.  The  fat  was  hot  by  this  time — 
"  all  sizzlin',"  as  she  said. 

"  There,  preacher,  this  is  the  last,  and  there  is  the  board  on 
which  husband  used  to  sew  shoes,  wax  and  all.  Now  I  will  go 
to  fryin'  my  doughnuts,  and  you  and  I  can  be  workin'  away  at 
the  same  time,  and  I'll  tell  ye  who  I  am.  Work  away — work 
away ! 

"  I'm  a  widder.  You  married  ?  A  widower  ?  Well,  that 
ain't  nothin'  to  me.  Work  away — work  away ! 

"  I  came  from  old  Hingham,  near  Boston.  You've  heard  of 
Boston  ?  That  was  before  I  was  married.  Our  family  came  to 
Ohio  first,  then  we  heard  that  there  was  better  land  in  Injiany, 
and  we  moved  on  down  the  Ohio  Eiver  and  came  here.  There 
was  only  one  other  family  in  these  parts  at  that  time.  That 
was  folks  by  the  name  of  Eastman.  They  had  a  likely  smart 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.  67 

boy  by  the  name  of  Polk — Polk  Eastman.  He  grew  up  and 
became  lonesome.  I  grew  up  and  became  lonesome,  and  so  we 
concluded  that  we'd  make  a  home  together — here  it  is — and 
try  to  cheer  each  other.  Listening  be  ye  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  my 
doughnuts  are  fryin'  splendid.  Work  away — work  away  ! 

"  A  curious  time  we  had  of  it  when  we  went  to  get  married. 
There  was  a  minister  named  Penney,  who  preached  in  a  log 
church  up  in  Kentuck,  and  we  started  one  spring  mornin', 
something  like  this,  to  get  him  to  marry  us.  We  had  but  one 
horse  for  the  journey.  I  rode  on  a  kind  of  a  second  saddle 
behind  Polk,  and  we  started  off  as  happy  as  prairie  plovers.  A 
blue  sky  was  over  the  timber,  and  the  bushes  were  all  alive  with 
birds,  and  there  were  little  flowers  runnin'  everywhere  among 
the  new  grass  and  the  moss.  It  seemed  as  though  all  the 
world  was  for  us,  and  that  the  Lord  was  good.  I've  seen  lots  of 
trouble  since  then.  My  heart  has  grown  heavy  with  sorrow.  It 
was  then  as  light  as  air.  Work  away ! 

"  Well,  the  minister  Penney  lived  across  the  Kentuck,  and 
when  we  came  to  the  river  opposite  his  place  the  water  was  so 
deep  that  we  couldn't  ford  it.  There  had  been  spring  freshets. 
It  was  an  evenin'  in  April.  There  was  a  large  moon,  and 
the  weather  was  mild  and  beautiful.  We  could  see  the  pine- 
knots  burnin'  in  Parson  Penney's  cabin,  so  that  we  knew  that 
he  was  there,  but  didn't  see  him. 

" '  What  are  we  to  do  now  ? '  Polk  said  he.  '  We'll  have  to  go 
home  again,'  banterin'-like." 

" '  Holler,'  said  I.  '  Blow  the  horn  ! '  We  had  taken  a  horn 
along  with  us.  He  gave  a  piercin'  blast,  and  I  shouted  out, 
'  Elder  Penney !  Elder  Penney  ! ' 


68  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"The  door  of  the  cabin  over  the  river  opened,  and  the 
elder  came  out  and  stood  there,  mysterious-like,  in  the  light  of 
the  fire. 

"  '  Who  be  ye  ? '  he  called.     *  Hallo  !    What  is  wanted  ? ' 

"  '  We're  comin'  to  be  married ! '  shouted  Polk.  '  Comin'  to 
be  married — married  I  How  shall  we  get  across  the  river  ? ' 

"'The  ford's  too  deep.  Can't  be  done.  Who  be  ye?' 
shouted  the  elder. 

" '  I'm  Polk  Eastman— Polk  Eastman ! '  shouted  Polk. 

"'I'm  Olive  Pratt— Olive  Pratt— Olive !'  shouted  I. 

" '  Well,  you  just  stay  where  you  be,  and  I'll  marry  you 
there.' 

"  So  he  began  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

" '  Do  you,  Olive  Pratt,  take  that  there  man,  over  there  on 
the  horse,  to  be  your  husband  ?  Hey  ? ' 

"  I  shouted  back,  '  Yes,  sir ! ' 

" '  Do  you,  Polk  Eastman,  take  that  there  woman,  over  there 
on  the  horse,  to  be  your  wife  ? ' 

"  Polk  shouted  back, '  Yes,  elder,  that  is  what  I  came  for ! ' 

" '  Then,'  shouted  the  minister,  *  join  your  right  hands.' 

"  Polk  put  up  his  hand  over  his  shoulder,  and  I  took  it ;  and 
the  horse,  seein'  his  advantage,  went  to  nibblin'  young  sprouts. 
The  elder  then  shouted  : 

" '  I  pronounce  you  husband  and  wife.  You  can  go  home 
now,  and  I'll  make  a  record  of  it,  and  my  wife  shall  witness  it. 
Good  luck  to  you !  Let  us  pray.' 

"  Polk  hitched  up  the  reins  and  the  horse  stood  still.  How 
solemn  it  seemed !  The  woods  were  still  and  shady.  You 
could  hear  the  water  rushing  in  the  timber.  The  full  moon 


AUNT  OLIVE'S  WEDDING. 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.        QQ 

hung  in  the  clear  sky  over  the  river,  and  seemed  to  lay  on  the 
water  like  a  sparkling  boat.  I  was  happy  then.  On  our  jour- 
ney home  we  were  chased  by  a  bear.  I  don't  think  that  the 
bear  would  have  hurt  us,  but  the  scent  of  him  frightened  the 
horse  and  made  him  run  like  a  deer. 

"  Well,  we  portaged  a  stream  at  midnight,  just  as  the  moon 
was  going  down.  We  made  our  curtilage  here,  and  here  we 
lived  happy  until  husband  died  of  a  fever.  I'm  a  middlin'  good 
woman.  I  go  to  all  the  meetin's  round,  and  wake  'em  up.  I've 
got  a  powerful  tongue,  and  there  isn't  a  lazy  bone  in  my  whole 
body.  Work  away — work  away !  That's  the  way  to  get  along 
in  the  world.  Peg  away ! " 

While  Aunt  Olive  had  been  relating  this  odd  story,  John 
Hanks,  a  cousin  of  the  Lincolns,  had  come  quietly  to  the  door, 
and  entered  and  sat  down  beside  the  Tunker.  He  had  come  to 
Indiana  from  Kentucky  when  Abraham  was  fourteen  years  of 
age,  and  he  made  his  home  with  the  Lincolns  for  four  years, 
when  he  went  to  Illinois,  and  was  enthused  by  the  wonders  of 
prairie  farming.  It  was  Uncle  John  who  gave  to  Abraham 
Lincoln  the  name  of  rail- splitter.  He  loved  the  boy  Lincoln, 
and  led  his  heart  away  to  the  rich  prairies  of  Illinois  a  few 
years  after  the  present  scenes. 

"  He  and  I,"  he  once  said  of  Abraham,  "  worked  barefooted, 
grubbed,  plowed,  mowed,  and  cradled  together.  When  we 
returned  from  the  field,  he  would  snatch  a  piece  of  corn-bread, 
sit  down  on  a  chair,  with  his  feet  elevated,  and  read.  He  read 
constantly." 

This  man  had  heard  Aunt  Olive — Indiana,  or  "  Injiany," 
he  called  her — relate  her  marriage  experiences  many  times.  He 


70  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

was  not  interested  in  the  old  story,  but  he  took  a  keen  delight 
in  observing  the  curiosity  and  surprise  that  such  a  novel  tale 
awakened  in  the  mind  of  the  Tunker. 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  the  Tunker,  "  very  ex- 
traordinary. We  do  not  have  in  Germany  any  stories  like  that. 
I  hardly  know  what  my  people  would  say  to  such  a  story  as 
that.  This  is  a  very  extraordinary  country — very  extraor- 
dinary." 

"  I  can  tell  you  a  wedding  story  worth  two  o'  that,"  said 
Uncle  John  Hanks.  "  Why,  that  ain't  nowhere  to  it. — Now, 
Aunt  Injiany,  you  wait,  and  set  still.  I'm  goin'  to  tell  the 
elder  about  the  '  Two  TURKEY-CALLS.'  " 

The  Tunker  only  said,  "  This  is  all  very  extraordinary." 
Uncle  John  crossed  his  legs  and  bent  forward  his  long  whisk- 
ers, stretched  out  one  arm,  and  was  about  to  begin,  when  Aunt 
Olive  said : 

"  You  wait,  John  Hanks — you  wait  I'm  goin'  to  tell  the 
elder  that  there  story  myself." 

John  Hanks  never  disputed  with  Aunt  Olive. 

"  Well,  tell  it,"  said  he,  and  the  backwoods  woman  began  : 

"'Tis  a  master-place  to  get  married  out  here.  There's  a 
great  many  more  men  than  women  in  the  timber,  and  the  men 
get  lonesome-like,  and  no  man  is  a  whole  man  without  a  wife. 
Men  ought  not  to  live  alone  anywhere.  They  can  not  out  here. 
Well,  well,  the  timber  is  full  of  wild  turkeys,  especially  in  the 
fall  of  the  year,  but  they  are  hard  to  shoot.  The  best  way  to 
get  a  shot  at  a  turkey  is  by  a  turkey-call.  You  never  heard 
one,  did  you  ?  You  are  not  to  blame  for  bein'  ignorant.  It  is 
like  this—" 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.        71 

Aunt  Indiana  put  her  hands  to  her  mouth  like  a  shell,  and 
blew  a  low,  mysterious  whistle. 

"  Well,  there  came  a  young  settler  from  Kentucky  and  took 
up  a  claim  on  Pigeon  Creek ;  and  there  came  a  widow  from 
Ohio  and  took  a  claim  about  three  miles  this  side  of  him,  and 
neither  had  seen  the  other.  Well,  well,  one  shiny  autumn 
mornin'  each  of  them  took  in  to  their  heads  to  go  out  turkey- 
huntin',  aud  curiously  enough  each  started  along  the  creek 
toward  each  other.  The  girl's  name  was  Nancy,  and  the  man's 
name  was  Albert.  Nancy  started  down  the  creek,  and  Albert 
up  the  creek,  and  each  had  a  right  good  rifle. 

"  Nancy  stood  still  as  soon  as  she  found  a  hollow  place  in 
the  timber,  put  up  her  hand — so — and  made  a  turkey-call — 
so — and  listened. 

"  Albert  heard  the  call  in  the  hollow  timber,  though  he  was 
almost  a  mile  away,  and  he  put  up  his  hands — so — and  an- 
swered— so. 

" '  A  turkey,'  said  Nancy,  said  she.  '  I  wish  I  had  a  turkey 
to  cook.' 

" '  A  turkey,'  said  Albert,  said  he.  '  I  wish  I  had  some  one 
at  home  to  cook  a  turkey.' 

"  Then  each  stole  along  slowly  toward  the  other,  through 
the  hollow  timber. 

"  It  was  just  a  lovely  mornin'.  Jays  were  callin',  and  nuts 
were  fallin',  and  the  trees  were  all  yellow  and  red,  and  the  air 
put  life  into  you,  and  made  you  feel  as  though  you  would  live 
forever. 

"  Well,  they  both  of  them  stopped  again,  Nancy  and  Albert. 
Nancy  she  called — so — and  Albert — so. 
6 


72  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  *  A  turkey,  sure,'  said  Nancy. 

" '  A  turkey,  sure,'  said  Albert. 

"  Then  each  went  forward  a  little,  and  stopped  and  called 
again. 

"They  were  so  near  each  other  now  that  each  began  to 
hide  behind  the  thicket,  so  that  neither  might  scare  the 
turkey. 

"  Well,  each  was  scootin'  along  with  head  bowed — so — gun  in 
hand — so — one  wishin'  for  a  husband  and  one  for  a  wife,  and 
each  for  a  good  fat  turkey,  when  what  should  each  hear  but  a 
voice  in  a  tree !  It  was  a  very  solemn  voice,  and  it  said  : 

" '  Quit ! ' 

"  Each  thought  there  was  a  scared  turkey  somewhere,  and 
each  became  more  stealthy  and  cautious,  and  there  was  a  long 
silence. 

"  At  last  Nancy  she  called  again — so — and  Albert  he  answered 
her — so — and  each  thought  there  was  a  turkey  within  shootin' 
distance,  and  each  crept  along  a  little  nearer  each  other. 

"  At  last  Nancy  saw  the  bushes  stir  a  few  rods  in  front  of 
her,  and  raised  her  gun  into  position,  still  hiding  in  the  tangle. 
Albert  discovered  a  movement  in  front  of  him,  and  he  took  the 
same  position. 

"  Nancy  was  sure  she  could  see  something  dark  before  her, 
and  that  it  must  be  the  turkey  in  the  tangle.  She  put  her  finger 
on  the  lock  of  the  gun,  when  a  voice  in  the  air  said : 

" '  Quit ! ' 

" '  It's  a  turkey  in  the  tops  of  the  timber,'  thought  she, '  and 
he  is  watchin'  me,  and  warnin'  the  other  turkey.' 

"  Albert,  too,  was  preparin'  to  shoot  in  the  tangle  when  the 


JASPER  COBBLES  FOR  AUNT  OLIVE.        73 

command  from  the  tree-top  came.  Each  thought  it  would  be 
well  to  reconnoiter  a  little,  so  as  to  get  a  better  shot. 

"  Nancy  kneeled  down  on  the  moss  among  the  red-berry 
bushes,  and  peeked  cautiously  through  an  openiu'  in  the  tan- 
gle. What  was  that  ? 

"A  hat?    Yes,  it  was  a  hat ! 

"  Albert  he  peeked  through  another  openin',  and  his  heart 
sunk  like  a  stone  within  him.  What  was  that  ?  A  bonnet  ? 
Yes,  it  was  a  bonnet ! 

"  Was  ever  such  a  thing  as  that  seen  before  in  the  timber  ? 
Bears  had  been  seen,  and  catamounts,  and  prairie  wolves,  but  a 
bonnet!  He  drew  back  his  gun.  Just  then  there  came 
another  command  from  the  tree-top : 

" '  Quit ! ' 

"  Now,  would  you  believe  it  ?  Well,  two  guns  were  dis- 
charged at  that  turkey  in  the  tree,  and  it  came  tumblin'  down, 
a  twenty-pounder,  dead  as  a  stone. 

"  Nancy  run  toward  it.     Albert  run  towards  it. 

"  '  It's  yourn,'  said  Nancy. 

" '  It's  yourn,'  said  Albert. 

"  Each  looked  at  the  other. 

"  Nancy  looked  real  pink  and  pretty,  and  Albert  he  looked 
real  noble  and  handsome-like. 

" '  I'm  thinkin','  said  Albert,  '  it  kind  o'  belongs  to  both 
of  us.' 

"  So  I  think,  too,'  said  Nancy,  said  she.  '  Come  over  to  my 
cabin  and  I'll  cook  it  for  ye.  I'm  an  honest  girl,  I  am.' 

"  The  two  went  along  as  chipper  as  two  squirrels.  The 
creek  looked  really  pretty  to  'em,  and  the  prairie  was  all 


74:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

a-glitter  with  frost,  and  the  sky  was  all  pleasant-like,  and  you 
know  the  rest.  There,  now.  They're  livin'  there  yet.  Just  like 
poetry — wasn't  it,  now  ?  " 

"Very  extraordinary,"  said  the  Tunker,  "very!  I  never 
read  a  novel  like  that.  Very  extraordinary ! " 

A  tall,  lank,  wiry  boy  came  up  to  the  door. 

"  Abe,  I  do  declare  !  "  said  Aunt  Olive.  "  Come  in.  I'm 
makin'  doughnuts,  and  you  sha'n't  have  one  of  them.  I  make 
Scriptur'  doughnuts,  and  the  Scriptur'  says  if  a  man  spends 
his  time  porin'  over  books,  of  which  there  is  no  end,  neither 
shall  he  eat,  or  somethin'  like  that — now  don't  it,  elder  ? — But 
seein'  it's  you,  Abe,  and  you  are  a  pretty  good  boy,  after  all, 
when  people  are  in  trouble,  and  sick  and  such,  I'll  make  you 
an  elephant.  There  ain't  any  elephants  in  Injiany." 

Aunt  Olive  cut  a  piece  of  doughnut  dough  in  the  shape 
of  a  picture-book  elephant  and  tossed  it  into  the  fat.  It 
swelled  up  to  enormous  proportions,  and  when  she  scooped 
it  out  with  a  ladle  it  was,  for  a  doughnut,  an  elephant  indeed. 

"  Now,  Abe,  there's  your  elephant. — And,  elder,  here's  a 
whole  pan  full  of  twisted  doughnuts.  You  said  that  you  were 
goin'  to  meet  Black  Hawk.  Where  does  he  live?  Tell  us 
all  about  him." 

"  I  will  do  so,  my  good  woman,"  said  Jasper.  "  I  want  you 
to  be  interested  in  my  Indian  missions.  When  I  come  this 
way  again,  I  shall  be  likely  to  bring  with  me  an  Indian  guide, 
an  uncommon  boy,  I  am  told.  You  shall  hear  my  story." 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT  TO  BLACK 
HAWK.— AUNT  INDIANA'S  WIG. 

UNT  INDIANA,  Jasper,  John  Hanks,  and 
young  Abraham  Lincoln  sat  between  the  dying 
logs  in  the  great  fireplace  and  the  open  door. 
The  company  was  after  a  little  time  increased 
for  Thomas  Lincoln  came  slowly  into  the  clear- 
ing, and  saying,  "  How-dy?"  and  "  The  top  of  the  day  to  ye 
all,"  sat  down  in  the  sunshine  on  the  log  step  ;  and  soon  after 
came  Dennis  Hanks  and  dropped  down  on  a  puncheon. 

"  I  think  that  you  are  misled,"  said  Jasper,  "  when  you  say 
that  Black  Hawk  was  born  at  Kaskaskia.  If  I  remember 
rightly,  he  said  to  me :  'I  was  born  in  this  Sac  village.  Here  I 
spent  my  youth  ;  my  fathers'  graves  are  here,  and  the  graves  of 
my  children,  and  here  where  I  was  born  I  wish  to  die.'  Eock 
Island,  as  the  northern  islands,  rapids,  and  bluffs  of  the  Missis- 
sippi are  called,  is  a  very  beautiful  place.  Black  Hawk  clings 
to  the  spot  as  to  his  life.  '  I  love  to  look  down,'  he  said,  '  upon 
the  big  rivers,  shady  groves,  and  green  prairies  from  the  graves 
of  my  fathers,'  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  this  feeling.  His  blood 
is  the  same  and  his  rights  are  the  same  as  any  other  king,  and 
he  loves  Nature  and  has  a  heart. 

"  It  is  my  calling  to  teach  and  preach  among  the  Indians 

(76) 


76  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

and  new  towns  of  Illinois.  This  call  came  to  me  in  Pennsyl- 
vania. God  willed  it,  and  I  had  no  will  but  to  obey.  I  heard 
the  Voice  within,  just  as  I  heard  it  in  Germany  on  the  Ehine. 
TJiere  it  said,  '  Go  to  America.'  In  Pennsylvania  it  said,  '  Go 
to  the  Illinois.' 

"  I  went.  I  have  walked  all  the  way,  teaching  and  preach- 
ing in  the  log  school-houses.  I  sowed  the  good  seed,  and  left 
the  harvest  to  the  heavens.  Why  should  I  be  anxious  in  regard 
to  the  result?  I  walk  by  faith,  and  I  know  what  the  result  will 
be  in  God's  good  time,  without  seeking  for  it.  Why  should  I 
stop  to  number  the  people  ?  I  know. 

"  I  wanted  an  Indian  guide  and  interpreter,  and  the  inward 
Voice  told  me  to  go  to  Black  Hawk  and  secure  one  from  the 
chief  himself.  So  I  went  to  the  bluffs  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
told  Black  Hawk  all  my  heart,  and  he  let  me  preach  in  his 
lodges,  and  I  made  some  strong  winter  shoes  for  him,  and  tried 
to  teach  the  children  by  signs.  So  I  was  fed  by  the  ravens  of 
the  air.  He  had  no  interpreter  or  runner  such  as  he  would 
trust  to  go  with  me ;  but  he  told  me  if  I  would  return  in  the 
May  moon,  he  would  provide  me  one.  He  said  that  it  would  be 
a  boy  by  the  name  of  Waubeno,  whose  father  was  a  noble 
warrior  and  had  had  a  strange  and  mysterious  history.  The 
boy  was  then  traveling  with  an  old  uncle  by  the  name  of  Main- 
Pogue.  These  names  sound  strange  to  German  ears  :  Waubeno 
and  Main-Pogue !  I  promised  to  return  in  May.  I  am  on  my 
way. 

"If  I  get  the  boy  Waubeno — and  the  Voice  within  tells 
me  that  I  will — I  intend  to  travel  a  circuit,  round  and  round, 
round  and  round,  teaching  and  preaching.  I  can  see  my  circuit 


JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT.  77 

now  in  my  mind.  This  is  the  map  of  it :  From  Rock  Island  to 
Fort  Dearborn  (Chicago) ;  from  Fort  Dearborn  to  the  Ohio, 
which  will  bring  me  here  again ;  and  from  the  Ohio  to  the 
Mississippi,  and  back  to  Rock  Island,  and  so  round  and  round, 
round  and  round.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

The  homely  travels  of  Thomas  Lincoln  and  the  limited 
geography  of  Andrew  Crawford  had  not  prepared  Jasper's 
audience  to  see  even  this  small  circuit  very  distinctly.  Thomas 
Lincoln,  like  the  dwellers  in  the  Scandinavian  valleys,  doubt- 
less believed  that  there  "are  people  beyond  the  mountains, 
also"  but  he  knew  little  of  the  world  outside  of  Kentucky  and 
Illinois.  Mrs.  Eastman  was  quite  intelligent  in  regard  to  New 
England  and  the  Middle  States,  but  the  West  to  her  mind  was 
simply  land — "  oceans  of  it,"  as  she  expressed  herself — "  where 
every  one  was  at  liberty  to  choose  without  infringm'  upon 
anybody." 

"Don't  you  ever  stop  to  build  up  churches?"  said  Mrs. 
Eastman  to  Jasper. 

"  No." 

"  You  just  baptize  'em,  and  let  'em  run.  That's  what  I  can't 
understand.  I  can't  get  at  it.  What  are  you  really  doin'  ? 
Now,  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  Voice  in  the  wilderness,  preparing  the  way." 

"  No  family  name  ?  " 

"  No.     What  have  I  to  do  with  a  name?  " 

"  No  money  ?  " 

"  Only  what  I  earn." 

"  That's  queerer  yet.  Well,  you  are  just  the  man  to  preach 
to  the  uninhabited  places  of  the  earth.  Tell  us  more  about 


78  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Black  Hawk.  I  want  to  hear  of  him,  although  we  all  are 
wastin'  a  pile  of  time  when  we  all  ought  to  be  to  work.  Tell  us 
about  Black  Hawk,  and  then  we'll  all  up  and  be  doin'.  My  fire 
is  goin'  out  now." 

"  He's  a  revengeful  critter,  that  Black  Hawk,"  said  Thomas 
Lincoln,  "and  you  had  better  be  pretty  wary  of  him.  You 
don't  know  Indians.  He's  a  flint  full  of  fire,  so  people  say  that 
come  to  the  smithy.  You  look  out." 

"  He  has  had  his  wrongs,"  said  Jasper, "  and  he  has  been  led 
by  his  animal  nature  to  try  to  avenge  them.  Had  he  listened  to 
the  higher  teachings  of  the  soul,  it  might  have  been  different. 
We  should  teach  him." 

"  What  was  it  that  set  him  against  white  folks  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Eastman. 

"  He  told  me  .the  whole  story,"  said  Jasper,  "  and  it  made 
my  heart  bleed  for  him.  He's  a  child  of  Nature,  and  has  a 
great  soul,  but  it  needs  a  teacher.  The  Indians  need  teachers. 
I  am  sent  to  teach  in  the  wilderness,  and  to  be  fed  by  the  birds 
of  the  air.  I  am  sent  from  over  the  sea.  But  listen  to  the  tale 
of  Black  Hawk.  You  complain  of  your  wrongs,  don't  you  ? 
Why  should  not  he  ? 

"  Years  ago  Black  Hawk  had  an  old  friend  whom  he  dearly 
loved,  for  the  friendships  of  Indians  are  ardent  and  noble. 
That  friend  had  a  boy,  and  Black  Hawk  loved  this  boy  and 
adopted  him  as  his  own,  and  became  as  a  father  to  him,  and 
taught  him  to  hunt  and  to  go  to  war.  When  Black  Hawk 
joined  the  British  he  wished  to  take  this  boy  with  him  to  Canada ; 
but  his  own  father  said  that  he  needed  him  to  care  for  him  in 
his  old  age,  to  fish  and  to  hunt  for  him.  He  said,  moreover, 


JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT.  79 

that  he  did  not  like  his  boy  to  fight  against  the  Americans,  who 
had  always  treated  him  kindly.  So  Black  Hawk  left  the  boy 
with  his  old  father. 

"  On  his  return  to  Hock  River  and  the  bluffs  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, after  the  war  on  the  lakes,  and  as  he  was  approaching 
his  own  town  in  the  sunset,  he  chanced  to  notice  a  column 
of  white  smoke  curling  from  a  hollow  in  one  of  the  bluffs. 
He  stepped  aside  to  see  what  was  there.  As  he  looked  over 
the  bluff  he  saw  a  fire,  and  an  aged  Indian  sitting  alone  on  a 
prayer-mat  before  it,  as  though  humbling  himself  before  the 
Great  Spirit.  He  went  down  to  the  place  and  found  that  the 
man  was  his  old  friend. 

" '  How  came  you  here  ? '  asked  Black  Hawk.  But,  although 
the  old  Indian's  lip  moved,  he  received  no  answer. 

"  '  What  has  happened  ? '  asked  Black  Hawk. 

"  There  was  a  pitiful  look  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  but  this 
was  his  only  reply.  The  old  Indian  seemed  scarcely  alive. 
Black  Hawk  brought  some  water  to  him.  It  revived  him.  His 
consciousness  and  memory  seemed  to  return.  He  looked  up. 
With  staring  eyes  he  said,  suddenly : 

" '  Thou  art  Black  Hawk  !  0  Black  Hawk,  Black  Hawk,  my 
old  friend,  he  is  gone  ! ' 

"'Who  has  gone?' 

"  '  The  life  of  my  heart  is  gone,  he  whom  you  used  to  love. 
Gone,  like  a  maple-leaf.  Gone !  Listen,  0  Black  Hawk,  lis- 
ten. 

" '  After  you  went  away  to  fight  for  the  British,  I  came 
down  the  river  at  the  request  of  the  pale-faces  to  winter  there. 
When  I  arrived  I  found  that  the  white  people  had  built  a  fort 


80  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

there.  I  went  to  the  fort  with  my  son  to  tell  the  people  that 
we  were  friendly." 

" '  The  white  war-chief  received  me  kindly,  and  told  us  that 
we  might  hunt  on  this  side  of  the  Mississippi,  and  that  he 
would  protect  us.  So  we  made  our  camp  there.  We  lived 
happy,  and  we  loved  to  talk  of  you,  0  Black  Hawk  ! 

" '  We  were  there  two  moons,  when  my  boy  went  to  hunt 
one  day,  unsuspicious  of  any  danger.  We  thought  the  white 
man  spoke  true.  Night  came,  and  he  did  not  return.  I  could 
not  sleep  that  night.  In  the  morning  I  sent  out  the  old  woman 
to  the  near  lodges  to  give  an  alarm,  and  say  that  my  boy  must 
be  sought. 

" '  There  was  a  band  formed  to  hunt  for  him.  Snow  was 
on  the  ground,  and  they  found  his  tracks — my  boy's  tracks. 
They  followed  them,  and  saw  that  he  had  been  pursuing  a  deer 
to  the  river.  They  came  upon  the  deer,  which  he  had  killed 
and  left  hanging  on  the  branch  of  a  tree.  It  was  as  he  had 
left  it. 

" '  But  here  they  found  the  tracks  of  the  white  man.  The 
pale-faces  had  been  there,  and  had  taken  our  boy  prisoner. 
They  followed  the  tracks  and  they  found  him.  0  Black  Hawk  ! 
he  was  dead — my  boy !  The  white  men  had  murdered  him  for 
killing  the  deer  near  the  fort;  and  the  land  was  ours.  His 
face  was  all  shot  to  pieces.  His  body  was  stabbed  through  and 
through,  and  they  had  torn  the  hair  from  his  head.  They  had 
tied  his  hands  behind  him  before  they  murdered  him.  Black 
Hawk,  my  heart  is  dead.  What  do  the  hawks  in  the  sky  say  ? ' 

"  The  old  Indian  fell  into  a  stupor,  from  which  he  soon  ex- 
pired. Black  Hawk  watched  over  his  body  during  the  night, 


JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT   OP   HIS  VISIT.  81 

and  the  next  day  he  buried  it  upon  the  bluff.  It  was  at  that 
grave  that  Black  Hawk  listened  to  the  hawks  in  the  sky,  and 
vowed  vengeance  against  the  white  people  forever,  and  sum- 
moned his  warriors  for  slaughter." 

"  He's  a  hard  Indian,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln.  "  Don't  you 
trust  Black  Hawk.  You  don't  know  him." 

"  Hard  ?  Yes,  but  did  not  your  brother  Mordecai  make  the 
same  vow  and  follow  the  same  course  after  the  murder  of  your 
father  by  the  Indians  ?  A  slayer  of  man  is  a  slayer  of  man 
whoever  and  wherever  he  may  be.  May  the  gospel  bring  the 
day  when  the  shedding  of  human  blood  will  cease !  But  the 
times  are  still  evil.  The  world  waits  still  for  the  manifestation 
of  the  sons  of  God ;  as  of  old  it  waits.  I  have  given  all  I  am  to 
the  teaching  of  the  gospel  of  peace.  The  Indians  need  it ;  you 
need  it,  all  of  you.  You  do  the  same  things  that  the  savages 
do." 

"  Just  hear  him  ! "  said  Aunt  Indiana. — "  Who  are  you 
preachin'  to,  elder  ?  Callin'  us  savages  !  I'm  an  exhorter  my- 
self, I'd  like  to  have  you  know.  I  could  exhort  you.  Savages  ? 
"We  know  Indians  here  better  than  you  do.  You  wait." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  a  story  now,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  said  Aunt  Indiana.  " Thomas  Lin- 
coln never  heard  a  story  told  without  telling  another  one  to 
match  it ;  and  Abe,  here,  is  just  like  him.  The  thing  that  has 
been,  is,  as  the  Scriptur'  says." 

AN  ASTONISHED  INDIAN. 

"  Well,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "  I  hain't  no  faith  at  all,  elder, 
in  Injuns.  I  once  knew  of  a  woman  in  Kentuck,  in  my  father's 


32  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

day,  who  knew  enough  for  'em,  and  the  way  that  she  cleared 
'em  out  showed  an  amazin'  amount  of  spirit.  "Women  was 
women  in  Daniel  Boone's  time,  in  old  Kentuck.  The  Injuns 
found  'em  up  and  doin',  and  they  learned  to  sidle  away  pretty 
rapid-like  when  they  met  a  sun-bonnet. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  this  was  in  my  father's  time.  The 
Injuns  were  prowlin'  about  pretty  plenty  then,  and  one  day 
one  of  'em  came,  all  feathers  and  paint,  and  whoops  and 
prancin's,  to  a  house  owned  by  a  Mr.  Daviess,  and  found  that 
the  man  of  the  house  was  gone. 

"  But  the  wimmin-folks  were  at  home — Mrs.  Daviess  and 
the  children.  Well,  the  Injun  came  on  like  a  champion, 
swingin'  his  tommyhawk  and  liftin'  his  heels  high.  The  only 
weapon  that  the  good  woman  had  was  a  bottle  of  whisky. 

"  Well,  whisky  is  a  good  weapon  sometimes — there's  many 
a  man  that  has  found  it  a  slow  gunpowder.  Well,  this  woman, 
as  I  was  sayin',  had  her  wits  about  her.  What  do  you  think 
that  she  did  ? 

"  Well,  she  just  brought  out  the  whisky-bottle,  and  held  it 
up  before  him — so.  It  made  his  eyes  sparkle,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that ! 

"  *  Fire- water,'  said  she,  'mighty  temptin'. 

"  *  Ugh ! '  said  the  Indian,  all  humps  and  antics  and  eyes. 

"  Ugh  !    Did  you  ever  hear  an  Injun  say  that — '  Ugh  ? ' 

" '  Have  some  ? '  said  she. 

" Have  some?    Of  course  he  did. 

"She  got  a  glass  and  put  it  on  the  table,  and  then  she 
uncorked  the  bottle  and  handed  it  to  him  to  pour  out  the 
whisky.  He  lost  his  wits  at  once. 


JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT.  83 

"  He  set  down  his  gun  to  pour  out  a  dram,  all  giddy,  when 
Mrs.  Daviess  seized  the  shooter  and  lifted  it  up  quick  as  a  flash 
and  pointed  to  his  head. 

"  '  Set  that  down,  or  I'll  fire  !     Set  that  bottle  down  ! ' 

"  The  poor  Injun's  jaw  dropped.  He  set  down  the  bottle, 
looked  wild,  and  begged  for  his  life. 

" '  Set  still,'  said  she ;  and  he  looked  at  the  whisky-bottle 
and  then  slunk  all  up  in  a  heap  and  remained  silent  as  a  dead 
man  until  Mr.  Daviess  came  home,  when  he  was  allowed  to 
crawl  away  into  the  forest.  He  gave  one  parting  look  at  the 
bottle,  but  he  never  wanted  to  see  a  white  woman  again,  I'll  be 
bound." 

"  You  ridicule  the  Indian  for  his  love  of  whisky,"  said  the 
Tunker,  "  but  who  taught  him  to  love  it  ?  Woe  unto  the  world 
because  of  offenses." 

"  Hello ! "  said  John  Hanks,  starting  up.  "  Here  comes 
Johnnie  Kongapod  again,  from  the  Illinois.  I  like  to  see  any 
one  from  Illinois,  even  if  he  is  an  Indian.  I'm  goin'  there 
myself  some  day.  I've  a  great  opinion  of  that  there  prairie 
country — hain't  you,  elder  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  garden  of  wild  flowers  that  seems  as  wide  as 
the  sky.  It  can  all  be  turned  into  green,  and  it  will  be  some 
day." 

Aunt  Indiana  greeted  the  Indian  civilly,  and  the  Tunker 
held  out  his  hand  to  him. 

"  Elder,"  said  Aunt  Indiana,  "  I  must  tell  you  one  of  my 
own  experiences,  now  that  Johnnie  Kongapod  has  come — the 
one  that  they  bantered  me  about  over  to  the  smithy.  Johnnie 
and  I  are  old  friends.  I  used  to  be  a  kind  of  travelin'  preacher 


84-  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

myself ;  I  am  now — I  go  to  camp-meetin's,  and  I  always  do 
my  duty. 

"Well,  a  few  years  ago,  durin'  the  Injun  troubles,  there 
was  goin'  to  be  a  camp-meetin'  on  the  Illinois  side,  and  I 
wanted  to  go.  Now,  Johnnie  Kongapod  is  a  good  Injun,  and 
I  arranged  with  him  that  he  should  go  with  me. 

"  You  didn't  know  that  I  wore  a  wig,  did  ye,  elder  ?  No  ? 
Well,  most  people  don't.  I  have  had  to  wear  a  wig  ever  since  I 
had  the  scarlet  fever,  when  I  was  a  girl.  I'm  kind  o'  ashamed 
to  tell  of  it,  I've  so  much  nateral  pride,  but  have  to  speak  of  it 
when  I  tell  this  story. 

"  Johnnie  Kongapod  never  saw  a  wig  before  I  showed  him 
mine,  and  I  never  showed  it  to  him  until  I  had  to. 

"  Well,  he  came  over  from  Illinois,  and  we  started  off  to- 
gether to  the  camp-meetin'.  It  was  a  lovely  time  on  the  prairies. 
The  grass  was  all  ripe  and  wavin',  and  the  creeks  were  all  alive 
with  ducks,  and  there  were  prairie  chickens  everywhere.  I  felt 
very  brisk  and  chipper. 

"  We  had  two  smart  horses,  and  we  cantered  along.  I  sang 
hymns,  and  sort  o'  preached  to  Johnnie,  when  all  at  once  we 
saw  a  shadow  on  the  prairie  like  a  cloud,  and  who  should  come 
ridin'  up  but  three  Injuns !  I  was  terribly  frightened.  I 
could  see  that  they  were  hostile  Injuns — Sacs,  from  Black 
Hawk.  One  of  them  swung  his  tommyhawk  in  the  air, 
and  made  signs  that  he  was  goin'  to  scalp  me.  Johnnie  be- 
gan to  beg  for  me,  and  I  thought  that  my  last  hour  had 
come. 

"  The  Injun  wheeled  his  pony,  rode  away,  then  turned  and 
came  dashin'  towards  me,  with  tommyhawk  lifted. 


JASPER  GIVES  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  VISIT.  85 

" '  Me  scalp ! '  said  he,  as  he  dashed  by  me.  Then  he 
turned  his  horse  and  came  plungin'  towards  me  again. 

"  Elder,  what  do  you  think  I  did  ?  I  snatched  off  my 
bonnet  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground.  Then  I  grabbed  my  wig, 
held  it  up  in  the  air,  and  when  the  Injun  came  rushin'  by  I 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"  « There  it  is,'  said  I. 

"  Well — would  you  believe  it  ? — that  Injun  gave  one  glance 
at  it,  and  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  he  never  stopped  runnin' 
till  he  was  out  of  sight.  The  two  other  Injuns  took  one  look 
at  my  wig  as  I  held  it  out  in  my  hand. 

" '  Scalped  herself ! '  said  one. 

" '  Took  her  head  off ! '  said  the  other.     '  She  conjur's ! ' 

"  They  spurred  their  horses  and  flew  over  the  prairie  like 
the  wind.  And — and — must  I  say  it? — Johnnie  Kongapod — 
he  ran  too ;  and  so  I  put  on  my  wig,  picked  up  my  sun-bonnet, 
and  turned  and  came  home  again. 

"  There  are  some  doughnuts,  Johnnie  Kongapod,  if  you  did 
desert  me. 

"  Elder,  this  is  a  strange  country.  And  don't  you  believe  any 
stories  about  honest  Injuns  that  the  law  condemns,  and  that 
go  home  to  see  their  families  overnight  and  return  again ;  you 
will  travel  a  long  way,  elder,  before  you  find  any  people  of  that 
kind,  Injuns  or  white  folks.  I  know.  I  haven't  lived  fifty 
years  in  this  troublesome  world  for  nothin'.  People  who  live 
up  in  the  air,  as  you  do,  elder,  have  to  come  down.  I'm  sorry. 
You  mean  well ! " 

Johnnie  Kongapod  arose,  lifted  his  brown  arm  silently,  and, 
bending  his  earnest  face  on  Jasper,  said : 


86  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  That  story  is  true.  You  will  know.  Time  tells  the  truth. 
Wait!" 

"  Eeturn  in  the  morning  to  be  shot ! "  said  Aunt  Olive. 
"  Injuns  don't  do  that  way  here.  When  I  started  for  Injiany 
I  was  told  of  a  mother-in-law  who  was  so  good  that  all  her 
daughters'  husbands  asked  her  to  come  and  live  with  them. 
They  said  she  moved  to  Injiany.  Now,  I  have  traveled  about 
this  State  to  all  the  camp-meetin's,  and  I  never  found  her 
anywhere.  Stands  to  reason  that  no  such  story  as  that  is  true. 
You'll  have  to  travel  a  long  way,  elder,  before  you  find  any 
people  of  that  kind  in  these  parts." 

Whom  was  Jasper  to  believe — the  confident  Indian  or  the 
pioneers  ? 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL. 


XAMIXATION-DAY  is  an  important  time  in 
country  schools,  and  it  excited  more  interest 
seventy  years  ago  than  now.  Andrew  Crawford 
was  always  ambitious  that  this  day  should  do 
credit  to  his  faithful  work,  and  his  pupils 
caught  his  inspiration. 

There  were  great  preparations  for  the  examination  at  Craw- 
ford's this  spring.  The  appearance  of  the  German  school- 
master in  the  place  who  could  read  Latin  was  an  event.  Years 
after,  when  the  pure  gold  of  fame  was  no  longer  a  glimmering 
vision  or  a  current  of  fate,  but  a  wonderful  fact,  Abraham 
Lincoln  wrote  of  such  visits  as  Jasper's  in  the  settlement  a 
curious  sentence  in  an  odd  hand  in  an  autobiography,  which  we 
reproduce  here: 


With  such  a  "  wizard  "  as  Jasper  in  the  settlement,  who 

would  certainly  attend  the  examination,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
7  (87) 


88  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

this  special  event  excited  the  greatest  interest  in  all  the  cabins 
between  the  two  Pigeon  Creeks  of  southern  Indiana. 

"  May  we  decorate  the  school-house  ?  "  asked  a  girl  of  Mr. 
Crawford,  before  the  appointed  day.  "May  we  decorate  the 
school-house  out  of  the  woods  ?  " 

"  I  am  chiefly  desirous  that  you  should  decorate  your  minds 
out  of  the  spelling-book,"  said  Mr.  Crawford ;  "  but  it  is  a  com- 
mendable thing  to  have  an  eye  to  beauty,  and  to  desire  to  pre- 
sent a  good  appearance.  Yes,  you  may  decorate  the  house  out 
of  the  woods." 

The  timber  was  green  in  places  with  a  vine  called  creeping 
Jenney,  and  laurels  whose  leaves  were  almost  as  green  and 
waxy  as  those  of  the  Southern  magnolia.  The  creeping 
Jenney  could  be  entwined  with  the  laurel-leaves  in  such  a  way 
as  to  form  long  festoons.  The  boys  and  girls  spent  the  morn- 
ings and  recesses  for  several  days  in  gathering  Jenney,  and  in 
twining  the  vines  with  the  laurel  and  making  decorative  fes- 
toons. 

They  hung  these  festoons  about  the  wooden  walls  of  the 
low  building  and  over  the  door.  Out  of  the  tufts  of  boxberry 
leaves  and  plums  they  made  the  word  "  Welcome,"  which  they 
hung  over  the  door.  They  covered  the  rude  chimney  with 
pine-boughs,  and  in  so  doing  filled  the  room  with  a  resinous 
odor.  They  also  covered  the  roof  with  boughs  of  evergreen. 

The  spelling-book  was  not  neglected  in  the  preparations  of 
the  eventful  week.  There  was  to  be  a  spelling-match  on  the 
day,  and,  although  it  was  already  felt  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
would  easily  win,  there  was  hard  study  on  the  part  of  all. 

One  afternoon,  after  school,  in  the  midst  of  these  heroic 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL.         89 

preparations,  a  party  of  the  scholars  were  passing  along  the 
path  in  the  timber.  A  dispute  arose  between  two  boys  in  re- 
gard to  the  spelling  of  a  word. 

"  I  spelled  it  just  as  Crawford  did,"  said  one. 

"  No,  you  didn't.     Crawford  spelled  it  with  a  i" 

"  He  spelled  it  with  a  y,  and  that  is  just  the  way  I  spelled 
it." 

"  He  didn't,  now,  I  know !  I  heard  Crawford  spell  it  him- 
self." 

"  He  did ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  lie  ?  " 

"  You  do — it  don't  need  telling." 

"  I  won't  be  called  a  liar  by  anybody.  I'll  make  you  ache 
for  that ! " 

"  We'll  see  about  that.  You  may  ache  yourself  before  this 
thing  is  settled.  I've  got  fists  as  well  as  you,  and  I  will  not 
take  such  words  as  that  from  anybody.  Come  on ! " 

The  two  backwoods  knights  rushed  toward  each  other  with 
a  wounded  sense  of  honor  in  their  hearts  and  with  uplifted 
arms. 

Suddenly  a  form  like  a  giant  passed  between  them.  It  took 
one  boy  under  one  of  its  arms  and  the  other  under  the  other, 
and  strode  down  the  timber. 

"  He  called  me  a  liar,"  said  one  of  the  boys.  "  I  won't  stand 
that  from  any  man." 

"  He  sassed  me,"  said  the  other,  "  and  I  won't  stand  any 
sassin',  not  while  my  fists  are  alive." 

"  You  wouldn't  be  called  a  liar,"  said  the  first. 

"  Nor  take  any  sassin',"  said  the  second. 


90  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

The  tall  form  in  blue-jean  shirt  and  leather  breeches  strode 
on,  with  the  two  boys  under  its  arms. 

"  I  beg ! "  at  last  said  one  of  the  boys. 

"  I  beg ! "  said  the  other. 

"  Then  I'll  let  you  go,  and  we'll  all  be  friends  again ! " 

"  Yes,  Abraham,  I'll  give  in,  if  he  will." 

"  I  will.     Let  me  go." 

The  tall  form  dropped  the  two  boys,  and  soon  all  was  peace 
in  the  April-like  air. 

"Abraham  Lincoln  will  never  allow  any  quarrels  in  our 
school,"  said  another  boy.  "  Where  he  is  there  has  to  be  peace. 
It  wouldn't  be  fair  for  him  to  use  his  strength  so,  only  he's 
always  right ;  and  when  strength  is  right  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

The  boy  had  a  rather  clear  perception  of  the  true  principles 
of  human  government.  A  will  to  do  right  and  the  power  to 
enforce  it,  make  nations  great  as  well  as  character  powerful. 

The  eventful  day  came,  with  bluebirds  in  the  glimmering 
timber,  and  a  blue  sky  over  all.  People  came  from  a  distance 
to  attend  the  examination,  •  and  were  surprised  to  find  the 
school-house  changed  into  a  green  bower. 

The  afternoon  session  had  been  assigned  to  receiving  com- 
pany, and  the  pupils  awaited  the  guests  with  trembling  expec- 
tation. It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the  oiled  paper  that  served  for 
panes  of  glass  in  the  windows  had  been  pushed  aside  to  admit 
the  air  and  make  an  outlook,  and  the  door  had  been  left  open. 

i 

The  first  to  arrive  was  Jasper.  The  school  saw  him  coming ; 
but  he  looked  so  kindly,  benevolent,  and  patriarchal,  that  the 
boys  and  girls  did  not  stand  greatly  in  awe  of  him.  They 
seemed  to  feel  instinctively  that  he  was  their  friend  and  was 


ABRAHAM  AS  A  PEACE-MAKER. 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL.         91 

with  them.  But  a  different  feeling  came  over  them  when 
'Squire  Gentry,  of  Gentryville,  came  cantering  on  a  horse  that 
looked  like  a  war-charger.  'Squire  Gentry  was  a  great  man  in 
those  parts,  and  filled  a  continental  space  in  their  young  minds. 
The  faces  of  all  the  scholars  were  turned  silently  and  defer- 
ently  to  their  books  when  the  'Squire  banged  with  his  whip- 
handle  on  the  door.  Aunt  Olive  was  next  seen  coming  down 
the  timber.  She  was  dressed  in  a  manner  to  cause  solicitude 
and  trepidation.  She  wore  knit  mits,  had  a  lofty  poke  bonnet, 
and  a  "  checkered "  gown  gay  enough  for  a  valance,  and, 
although  it  was  yet  very  early  spring,  she  carried  a  parasol  over 
her  head.  There  was  deep  interest  in  the  books  as  her  form 
also  darkened  the  festooned  door. 

Then  the  pupils  breathed  freer.  But  only  for  a  moment. 
Sarah  Lincoln,  Abraham's  sister,  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  beheld  a  sight  which  she  was  not  slow  to  communicate. 

"  Abe,"  she  whispered,  "  look  there  ! " 

"  Blue-nose  Crawford,"  whispered  the  tall  boy,  "  as  I  live !  " 

In  a  few  moments  the  school  was  all  eyes  and  mouths. 
Blue-nose  Crawford  bore  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  hard 
taskmaster,  and  of  holding  to  the  view  that  severe  discipline 
was  one  of  the  virtues  that  wisdom  ought  to  visit  upon  the 
youth.  He  once  lent  to  Abraham  Lincoln  Weems's  "  Life  of 
Washington."  The  boy  read  it  with  absorbing  interest,  but 
there  came  a  driving  storm,  and  the  rain  ran  in  the  night 
through  the  walls  of  the  log-cabin  and  wet  and  warped  the 
cover  of  the  book.  Blue-nose  Crawford  charged  young  Lincoln 
seventy-five  cents  for  the  damage  done  to  the  book.  "Abe," 
as  he  was  called,  worked  three  days,  at  twenty-five  cents  a  day, 


92  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

pulling  fodder,  to  pay  the  fine.  He  said,  long  after  this  hard 
incident,  that  he  did  his  work  well,  and  that,  although  his  feel- 
ings were  injured,  he  did  not  leave  so  much  as  a  strip  of  fodder 
in  the  field. 

"  The  class  in  reading  may  take  their  places,"  said  Andrew 
Crawford. 

It  was  a  tall  class,  and  it  was  provided  with  leather-covered 
English  Readers.  One  of  the  best  readers  in  the  class  was  a 
Miss  Roby,  a  girl  of  some  fifteen  years  of  age,  whom  young 
Lincoln  greatly  liked,  and  whom  he  had  once  helped  at  a  spell- 
ing match,  by  putting  his  finger  on  his  eye  (i)  when  she  had 
spelled  defied  with  a  y.  This  girl  read  a  selection  with  real 
pathos. 

"  That  gal  reads  well,"  said  Blue-nose  Crawford,  or  Josiah 
Crawford,  as  he  should  be  called.  "  She  ought  to  keep  school. 
We're  goin'  to  need  teachers  in  Indiana.  People  are  comin' 
fast." 

Miss  Roby  colored.  She  had  indeed  won  a  triumph  of 
which  every  pupil  of  Spencer  County  might  be  proud. 

"  Now,  Nathaniel,  let's  hear  you  read.  You're  a  strappin' 
feller,  and  you  ought  not  to  be  outread  by  a  gal." 

Nathaniel  raised  his  book  so  as  to  hide  his  face,  like  one 
near-sighted.  He  spread  his  legs  apart,  and  stood  like  a  drum- 
major  awaiting  a  word  of  command. 

"  You  may  read  Section  V  in  poetry,"  said  Mr.  Crawford, 
the  teacher.  "Verses  supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander 
Selkirk.  Speak  up  loud,  and  mind  your  pauses." 

He  did. 

"  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey,"  he  began,  in  a  tone  of 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL.         93 

vocal  thunder.  Then  he  made  a  pause,  a  very  long  one.  Josiah 
Crawford  turned  around  in  great  surprise;  and  Aunt  Olive 
planted  the  chair  in  which  she  had  been  sitting  at  a  different 
angle,  so  that  she  could  scrutinize  the  reader. 

The  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed,  which  in  the  case  of  the 
boy  was  only  one  page  of  the  English  Reader,  was  diligently 
spelling  out  the  next  line,  which  he  proceeded  to  pronounce 
like  one  long  word  with  surprising  velocity : 

"My-right-there-is-none-to-dispute." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  Hold  down  your  book,"  said  the  master. 

"  Yes,  hold  down  your  book,"  said  Josiah  Crawford.  "  "What 
do  ye  cover  yer  face  for  ?  There's  nuthin'  to  be  ashamed  of. 
Now  try  again." 

Nathaniel  lowered  the  book  and  revealed  the  singular  strug- 
gle that  was  going  on  in  his  mind.  He  had  to  spell  out  the 
words  to  himself,  and  in  doing  so  his  face  was  full  of  the  most 
distressing  grimaces.  He  unconsciously  lifted  his  eyebrows, 
squinted  his  eyes,  and  drew  his  mouth  hither  and  thither. 

"  From  the  cen-t-e-r,  center ;  center,  all  round  to  the  sea, 
I  am  lord  of  the  f-o-w-1  aw^-the-brute." 

The  last  line  came  to  a  sudden  conclusion,  and  was  followed 
by  a  very  long  pause. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Andrew  Crawford,  the  master. 

"  Yes,  go  on,"  said  Josiah.  "  At  the  rate  you're  goin'  now 
you  won't  get  through  by  candle-light." 

Nathaniel  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  uttered  a  curiously  ex- 
citing— 

«  0  "— 


94-  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  That  boy'll  have  a  fit,"  said  Aunt  Olive.  "  Don't  let  him 
read  any  more,  for  massy  sake  ! " 

«0—  What's  that  word,  master?  S-o-l-i-t-u-d-e,  so-li- 
tu-de.  0— So-li-tu-de." 

"0  Solitude,  where  are  the  charms?"  read  Mr.  Andrew 
Crawford, 

"  That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place." 

Nathaniel  followed  the  master  like  a  race-horse.  He  went 
on  smoothly  until  he  came  to  "  this  horrible  place,"  when  his 
face  assumed  a  startled  expression,  like  one  who  had  met  with 
an  apparition.  He  began  to  spell  out  horrible,  h-o-r-,  hor — 
there's  your  hor,  hor  ;  r-i-b-,  there's  your  rib,  horrib — " 

"  Don't  let  that  boy  read  any  more,"  said  Aunt  Olive. 

Nathaniel  dropped  his  book  by  his  side,  and  cast  a  far-away 
glance  into  the  timber. 

"I  guess  I  ain't  much  of  a  reader,"  he  remarked,  dryly. 

"  Stop,  sir  ! "  said  the  master. 

Poor  Nathaniel !  Once,  in  attempting  to  read  a  Bible  story, 
he  read,  "  And  he  smote  the  Hittite  that  he  died" — "  And  he- 
smote  him  Hi-ti-ti-ty,  that  he  did,"  with  great  emphasis  and 
brief  self -congratulation. 

In  wonderful  contrast  to  Nathaniel's  efforts  was  the  reading 
in  concert  by  the  whole  class.  Here  was  shown  fine  prepara- 
tion for  a  forest  school.  The  reading  of  verses,  in  which  "  sound 
corresponded  to  the  signification,"  was  smoothly,  musically,  and 
admirably  done,  and  we  give  some  of  these  curious  exercises 
here: 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL.         95 

Felling  trees  in  a  wood. 

Loud  sounds  the  axe,  redoubling  strokes  on  strokes ; 
On  all  sides  round  the  forest  hurls  her  oaks 
Headlong.     Deep  echoing  groan  the  thickets  brown, 
Then  rustling,  crackling,  crashing,  thunder  down. 

Sounds  of  a  low-string. 

The  string  let  fly 
Twanged  short  and  sharp,  like  the  shrill  swallow's  cry. 

The  pheasant. 

See !  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs, 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings. 

Scylla  and  Charybdis. 

Dire  Scylla  there  a  scene  of  horror  forms, 
And  here  Charybdis  fills  the  deep  with  storms. 
When  the  tide  rushes  from  her  rumbling  caves, 
The  rough  rock  roars ;  tumultuous  boil  the  waves. 

Boisterous  and  gentle  sounds. 

Two  craggy  rocks  projecting  to  the  main, 
The  roaring  winds'  tempestuous  rage  restrain : 
Within,  the  waves  in  softer  murmurs  glide, 
And  ships  secure  without  their  hawsers  ride. 

Laborious  and  impetuous  motion. 

With  many  a  weary  step,  and  many  a  groan, 
Up  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone : 
The  huge  round  stone  resulting  with  a  bound, 
Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground. 

Regular  and  slow  movement. 

First  march  the  heavy  mules  securely  slow ; 
O'er  hills,  o'er  dales,  o'er  crags,  o'er  rocks  they  go. 


96  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

Motion  slow  and  difficult. 

A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along. 

A  rock  torn  from  the  ~broiu  of  a  mountain. 

Still  gath'ring  force,  it  smokes,  and  urged  amain, 
Whirls,  leaps,  and  thunders  down  impetuous  to  the  plain. 

Extent  and  violence  of  the  leaves. 

The  waves  behind  impel  the  waves  before, 
Wide-rolling,  foaming  high,  and  tumbling  to  the  shore. 

Pensive  numbers. 

In  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 
Where  heav'nly  pensive  contemplation  dwells, 
And  ever-musing  melancholy  reigns. 

Battle. 

Arms  on  armor  clashing  brayed 
Horrible  discord ;  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  fury  raged. 

Sound  imitating  reluctance. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned  ; 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 

Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind? 

A  spelling  exercise  followed,  in  which  the  pupils  spelled  for 
places,  or  for  the  head.  Abraham  Lincoln  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  class.  He  was  regarded  as  the  hest  speller  in  Spencer 
County.  He  is  noted  to  have  soon  exhausted  all  that  the  three 
teachers  whom  he  found  there  could  teach  him.  Once,  in  after 
years,  when  he  was  asked  how  he  came  to  know  so  much,  he 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL.         97 

answered,  "  By  a  willingness  to  learn  of  every  one  who  could 
teach  me  anything." 

"  Abraham,"  said  Master  Crawford,  "you  have  maintained 
your  place  at  the  head  of  the  class  during  the  winter.  You 
may  take  your  place  now  at  the  foot  of  the  class,  and  try 
again." 

The  spelling  for  turns,  or  for  the  head,  followed  the  method 
of  the  old  Webster's  "  Speller,"  that  was  once  so  popular  in 
country  schools : 

ail,  to  be  in  trouble.  al-tar,  a  place  for  offerings. 

ale,  malt  liquor.  al-ter,  to  change. 

air,  the  atmosphere.  ant,  a  little  insect. 

Tteir,  one  who  inherits.  awnt,  a  sister  to  a  parent. 

all,  the  whole.  ark,  a  vessel. 

awl,  an  instrument.  arc,  part  of  a  circle. 

All  went  correctly  and  smoothly,  to  the  delight  and  satis- 
faction of  Josiah  Crawford  and  Aunt  Olive,  until  the  word 
drachm  was  reached,  when  all  the  class  failed  except  Abraham 
Lincoln,  who  easily  passed  up  to  the  head  again. 

The  writing-books,  or  copy-books,  were  next  shown  to  the 
visitors.  The  writing  had  been  done  on  puncheon-desks 
with  home  made  ink.  Abraham  Lincoln's  copy-book  showed 
the  same  characteristic  hand  that  signed  the  Emancipation 
Proclamation.  In  one  corner  of  a  certain  page  he  had  written 
an  odd  bit  of  verse  in  which  one  may  read  a  common  ex- 
perience in  the  struggles  of  life  after  what  is  better  and  higher. 
Emerson  said,  "A  high  aim  is  curative."  Poor  backwoods 
Abe  seemed  to  have  the  same  impression,  but  he  did  not  write 
it  down  in  an  Emersonian  way,  but  in  this  odd  rhyme  : 


98  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Abraham  Lincoln, 

His  hand  and  pen, 
He  will  be  good, 
But  God  knows  when." 

The  exercises  ended  with  a  grand  dialogue  translated  from 
Fenelon  between  Dionysius,  Pythias,  and  Damon,  in  which 
fidelity  in  friendship  was  commended.  After  this,  each  of  the 
visitors,  Aunt  Olive  included,  was  asked  to  make  a  "  few  re- 
marks." Aunt  Olive's  remarks  were  "few,"  but  to  the  point: 

"  Children,  you  have  read  well,  and  spelled  well,  and  are  good 
arithme^'c&ers,  but  you  ain't  sot  still.  There ! " 

Josiah  Crawford  thought  the  progress  of  the  school  had 
been  excellent,  but  that  more  of  the  rod  had  been  needed. 

(Where  had  all  the  green  bushes  gone  in  the  clearing,  but 
to  purposes  of  discipline  ?) 

Then  good  Brother  Jasper  was  asked  to  speak.  The 
"  wizard  "  who  could  speak  Latin  arose.  The  pupils  could  see 
his  great  heart  under  his  face.  It  shone  through.  His  fine 
German  culture  did  not  lead  him  away  from  the  solid  merits 
of  the  forest  school. 

"  There  are  purposes  in  life  that  we  can  not  see,"  he  began, 
"  but  the  secret  comes  to  those  who  listen  to  the  beating  of  the 
human  heart,  and  at  the  doors  of  heaven.  Spirits  whisper,  as 
it  were.  The  soul,  a  great  right  intention,  is  here ;  and  there  is 
a  conscience  here  which  is  power ;  and  here,  for  aught  we  can 
say,  may  be  some  young  Servius  Tullius  of  this  wide  republic." 

Servius  Tullius  ?  Would  any  one  but  he  have  dreamed  that 
the  citizens  of  Rome  would  one  day  delight  to  honor  an 
ungainly  pupil  of  that  forest  school  ? 


THE  EXAMINATION  AT  CRAWFORD'S  SCHOOL. 


99 


One  day  there  came  to  "Washington  a  present  to  the  Liber- 
ator of  the  American  Republic.  It  looked  as  follows,  and  bore 
the  following  inscription : 


"  To  Abraham  Lincoln,  President,  for  the  second  time,  of  the  American 
Republic,  citizens  of  Rome  present  this  stone,  from  the  wall  of  Servius 
Tullius,  by  which  the  memory  of  each  of  those  brave  assertors  of  liberty 
may  be  associated.  Anno  1865." 

It  is  said  that  the  modest  President  shrank  from  receiving 
such  a  compliment  as  that.  It  was  too  much.  He  hid  away  the 
stone  in  a  storeroom  of  the  capital,  in  the  basement  of  the  White 
House.  It  now  constitutes  a  part  of  his  monument,  being  one 
of  the  most  impressive  relics  in  the  Memorial  Hall  of  that 
structure.  It  is  twenty-four  hundred  years  old,  and  it  trav- 
eled across  the  world  to  the  prairies  of  Illinois,  a  tribute  from 
the  first  advocate  of  the  rights  of  the  people  to  the  latest  de- 
fender of  all  that  is  sacred  to  the  human  soul. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 


|  HE  house  in  which  young  Abraham  Lincoln 
attended  church  was  simple  and  curious,  as 
were  the  old  forest  Baptist  preachers  who  con- 
ducted the  services  there.  It  was  called  simply 
the  "  meeting-house."  It  stood  in  the  timber, 
whose  columns  and  aisles  opened  around  it  like  a  vast  cathedral, 
where  the  rocks  were  altars  and  the  birds  were  choirs.  It  was 
built  of  rude  logs,  and  had  hard  benches,  but  the  plain  people 
had  done  more  skillful  work  on  this  forest  sanctuary  than  on 
the  school-house.  The  log  meeting-house  stood  near  the  log 
school-house,  and  both  revealed  the  heart  of  the  people  who 
built  them.  It  was  the  Prussian  school-master,  trained  in  the 
moral  education  of  Pestalozzi,  that  made  the  German  army  vic- 
torious over  France  in  the  late  war.  And  it  was  the  New 
England  school-master  that  built  the  great  West,  and  made 
Plymouth  Rock  the  crown-stone  of  our  own  nation.  The  world 
owes  to  humble  Pestalozzi  what  it  never  could  have  secured 
from  a  Napoleon.  It  is  right  ideas  that  march  to  the  conquest, 
that  lift  mankind,  and  live. 

It  had  been  announced  in  the  school-house  that  Jasper  the 
Parable  would  preach   in  the  log  church  on  Sunday.     The 

(100) 


THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS.     101 

school-master  called  the  wandering  teacher  "  Jasper  the  Par- 
able," but  the  visitor  became  commonly  known  as  the  "  Old 
Tunker  "  in  the  community.  The  news  flew  for  miles  that  "  an 
old  Tunker  "  was  to  preach.  No  event  had  awakened  a  greater 
interest  since  Elder  Elkins,  from  Kentucky,  had  come  to  the 
settlement  to  preach  Xancy  Lincoln's  funeral  sermon  under 
the  great  trees.  On  that  occasion  all  the  people  gathered 
from  the  forest  homes  of  the  vast  region.  Every  one  now 
was  eager  to  visit  the  same  place  in  the  beautiful  spring 
weather,  and  to  "  hear  what  the  old  Tunker  would  have  to 
say." 

Among  the  preachers  who  used  to  speak  in  the  log  meeting- 
house and  in  Thomas  Lincoln's  cabin  were  one  Jeremiah  Cash, 
and  John  Kichardson,  and  young  Lamar.  The  two  latter 
preachers  lived  some  ten  miles  distant  from  the  church ;  but  ten 
miles  was  not  regarded  as  a  long  Sabbath-day  journey  in  those 
days  in  Indiana.  When  the  log  meeting-house  was  found  too 
small  to  hold  the  people,  such  preachers  would  exhort  under 
the  trees.  There  used  to  be  held  religious  meetings  in  the 
cabins,  after  the  manner  of  the  present  English  cottage  prayer- 
meetings.  These  used  to  be  appointed  to  take  place  at  "  early 
candle-lighting,"  and  many  of  the  women  who  attended  used 
to  bring  tallow  dips  with  them,  and  were  looked  upon  as  the 
"  wise  virgins  "  who  took  oil  in  their  lamps. 

It  was  a  lovely  Sunday  in  April.  The  warm  sunlight  filled 
the  air  and  bird-songs  the  trees.  The  notes  of  the  lark,  the 
sparrow,  and  the  prairie  plover  were  bells — 

"  To  call  me  to  duty,  while  birds  in  the  air 
Sang  anthems  of  praise  as  I  went  forth  to  prayer," 


102  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

as  one  of  the  old  hymns  used  to  run.  The  buds  on  the  trees 
were  swelling.  There  was  an  odor  of  walnut  and  "  sassaf rax  " 
in  the  tides  of  the  sunny  air.  Cowslips  and  violets  margined 
the  streams,  and  the  sky  over  all  was  serene  and  blue,  and 
bright  with  the  promise  of  the  summer  days. 

The  people  began  to  gather  about  the  meeting-house  at  an 
early  hour.  The  women  came  first,  in  corn-field  bonnets  which 
were  scoop-shaped  and  flaring  in  front,  and  that  ran  out  like 
horns  behind.  On  these  funnel-shaped,  cornucopia-like  head- 
gears there  might  now  and  then  be  seen  the  vanity  of  a  ribbon. 
The  girls  carried  their  shoes  in  their  hands  until  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  meeting-house,  when  they  would  sit  down  on  some 
mossy  plat  under  an  old  tree,  "bein'  careful  of  the  snakes," 
and  put  them  on.  All  wore  linsey-woolsey  dresses,  of  which 
four  or  five  yards  of  cloth  were  an  ample  pattern  for  a  single 
garment,  as  they  had  no  use  for  any  superfluous  polonaises  in 
those  times. 

Long  before  the  time  for  the  service  the  log  meeting-house 
was  full  of  women,  and  the  yard  full  of  men  and  horses.  Some 
of  the  people  had  come  from  twenty  miles  away.  Those  who 
came  from  the  longest  distances  were  the  first  to  arrive — as  is 
usual,  for  in  all  matters  in  life  promptness  is  proportioned  to 
exertion. 

"When  the  Parable  came,  Thomas  Lincoln  met  him. 

"  You  can't  preach  here,"  said  he.  "  Half  the  people 
couldn't  hear  you.  You  have  a  small  voice.  You  don't  holler 
and  pound  like  the  rest  of  'em,  I  take  it.  Suppose  you  preach 
out  under  the  trees,  where  all  the  people  can  hear  ye.  It  looks 
mighty  pleasant  there.  With  our  old  sing-song  preachers  it 


THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS.  1Q3 

don't  make  so  much  difference.  We  could  hear  one  of  them 
if  you  were  to  shut  him  up  in  jail.  But  with  you  it  is  differ- 
ent. You  have  been  brought  up  different  among  those  big 
churches  over  there.  What  do  you  say,  preacher  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  preach  under  the  trees.  I  love  the  trees. 
They  are  the  meeting-house  of  God." 

"  Say,  preacher,  would  you  mind  goin'  over  and  preachin' 
at  Nancy's  grave  ?  Elder  Elkins  preached  there,  and  the  other 
travelin'  ministers.  Seems  kind  o'  holy  over  there.  Nancy 
was  a  good  woman,  and  all  the  people  liked  her.  She  was 
Abraham's  mother.  The  trees  around  her  grave  are  beau- 
tiful." 

"  I  would  like  to  preach  there,  by  that  lonely  grave  in  the 
wilderness." 

"  The  Tunker  will  preach  at  Nancy's  grave,"  said  Thomas 
Lincoln  in  a  loud  voice.  He  led  the  way  to  the  great  cathedral 
of  giant  trees,  which  were  clouded  with  swelling  buds  and  old 
moss,  and  a  long  procession  of  people  followed  him  there. 

Among  them  was  Aunt  Olive,  with  a  corn-field  bonnet  of 
immense  proportions,  and  her  hymn-book.  She  was  a  lively 
worshiper.  At  all  the  meetings  she  sang,  and  at  the  Method- 
ist meetings  she  shouted ;  and  after  all  religious  occasions  she 
"  tarried  behind,"  to  discuss  the  sermon  with  the  minister. 
She  usually  led  the  singing.  Her  favorite  hymns  were,  "  Am 
I  a  soldier  of  the  Cross,"  "  Come,  thou  Fount  of  every  bless- 
ing," and  "  My  Bible  leads  to  glory."  The  last  hymn  and 
tune  suited  her  emotional  nature,  and  she  would  pitch  it  upon 
a  high  key,  and  make  the  woods  ring  with  the  curious  musical 
exhortation  of  the  chorus  : 


104  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN.' 

"  Sing  on,  pray  on, 
Ye  followers  of  Emmanuel." 

At  the  early  candle-meetings  at  Thomas  Lincoln's  cabin 
and  other  cabins,  she  sang  hymns  of  a  more  persuasive  charac- 
ter. These  were  oddly  appropriate  to  the  hard-working,  weary, 
yet  hopeful  community.  One  of  these  began  thus  : 

"  Come,  my  brethren,  let  us  try, 

For  a  little  season, 
Every  burden  to  lay  by — 

Come,  and  let  us  reason. 
What  is  this  that  easts  you  down  t 

What  is  this  that  grieves  you  f 
Speak,  and  let  the  worst  be  known — 

Speaking  may  relieve  you." 

The  music  was  weird  and  in  a  minor  key.  It  was  sung 
often  with  a  peculiar  motion  of  the  body,  a  forward-and-back- 
ward  movement,  with  clasped  hands  and  closed  eyes.  Another 
of  the  pioneer  hymns  began : 

"  Brethren,  we  have  met  for  worship, 

And  to  adore  the  Lord  our  God : 
Will  you  pray  with  all  your  power, 

While  we  wait  upon  the  Lord  f 
All  is  vain  unless  the  Spirit 

Of  the  Holy  One  comes  down  ; 
Brethren,  pray,  and  heavenly  manna 

Will  be  showered  all  around. 

"  Sisters,  will  you  join  and  help  us  t 
Moses'  sister  help-ed  him,"  etc. 

The  full  glory  of  a  spring  day  in  Indiana  shone  over  the 
vast  forests,  as  the  Tunker  rose  to  speak  under  the  great  trees. 
It  was  like  an  Easter,  and,  indeed,  the  hymn  sung  at  the  open- 


THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS.  105 

ing  of  the  service  was  much  like  an  Easter  hymn.     It  related 

how — 

"  On  this  lovely  morning  my  Saviour  was  rising, 
The  chains  of  mortality  fully  despising ; 
His  sufferings  are  over,  he's  done  agonizing — 
This  morning  my  Saviour  will  think  upon  me" 

The  individuality  of  the  last  line  seemed  especially  comfort- 
ing to  many  of  the  toiling  people,  and  caused  Aunt  Olive  to 
uplift  her  voice  in  a  great  shout. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  Jasper ;  "  come  with  me  this  morn- 
ing, and  we  will  walk  beside  the  Sea  of  Galilee  together.  Gali- 
lee !  I  love  to  think  of  Galilee — far,  far  away.  The  words 
spoken  on  the  shores  of  Galilee,  and  on  the  mountains  over- 
looking Galilee,  are  the  hope  of  the  world.  They  are  the  final 
words  of  our  all-loving  Father  to  his  children.  Times  may 
change,  but  these  words  will  never  be  exceeded  or  superseded  ; 
nothing  can  ever  go  beyond  these  teachings  of  the  brotherhood 
of  man,  and  the  way  that  the  heart  may  find  God,  and  become 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  God,  and  know  its  immortality, 
and  the  everlasting  truth.  What  did  the  great  Teacher  say  on 
Galilee?" 

The  Parable  began  to  repeat  from  memory  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  and  the  Galilean  teachings.  The  birds  came  and 
sang  in  the  trees  during  the  long  recitations,  and  the  people 
sank  down  on  the  grass.  Once  or  twice  Aunt  Olive's  corn-field 
bonnet  rose  up,  and  out  of  it  came  a  shout  of  "  Glory !  "  One 
enthusiastic  brother  shouted,  at  one  point  of  the  quotations : 
"  That's  right,  elder ;  pitch  into  'em,  and  give  it  'em — they 
need  it.  "We're  all  sinners  here ;  a  good  field  to  improve  upon ! 
Go  on ! " 


106  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

It  was  past  high  noon  when  Jasper  finished  his  quotations 
from  the  Gospels.  He  then  paused,  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  who  I  am,  and  why  I  am  here,  and 
what  has  sent  me  forth  among  the  speckled  birds  of  the  for- 
est? I  will  tell  you.  A  true  life  has  no  secrets — it  needs  none ; 
it  is  open  to  all  like  the  revelations  of  the  skies,  and  the  sea, 
and  the  heart  of  Nature — what  is  concealed  in  the  heart  is 
what  should  not  be. 

"  I  had  a  teacher.  He  is  living  now — an  old,  broken  man — 
a  name  that  will  sound  strange  to  your  ears.  He  gave  up  his 
life  to  teach  the  orphans  made  by  the  war.  He  studied  with 
them,  learned  with  them,  ate  with  them ;  he  saw  with  their 
eyes  and  felt  with  their  hearts.  He  taught  after  the  school  of 
Nature;  as  Nature  teaches  the  child  within,  so  he  taught, 
using  outward  objects. 

"  He  once  said  to  me : 

"  '  For  thirty  years  my  life  has  been  a  struggle  against  pov- 
erty. For  thirty  years  I  have  had  to  forego  many  of  the  barest 
necessities  of  life,  and  have  had  to  shun  the  society  of  my  fel- 
low-men for  want  of  decent  clothes.  Many  and  many  times  I 
have  gone  without  a  dinner,  and  eaten  in  bitterness  a  dry  crust 
of  bread  on  the  road,  at  .a  time  when  even  the  poorest  were 
seated  around  a  table.  All  this  I  have  suffered,  and  am  suffer- 
ing still  to-day,  and  with  no  other  object  than  to  realize  my 
plan  for  helping  the  poor.' 

"  When  I  heard  him  say  that,  I  loved  him.  It  made  me 
ashamed  of  my  selfish  life.  Then  I  heard  the  Dunkards 
preach,  and  tell  of  America  over  the  sea.  I  began  to  study  the 
words  of  the  Teacher  of  Galilee.  I,  too,  longed  to  teach.  My 


THE  PARABLE  PREACHES  IN  THE  WILDERNESS.  107 

wife  died,  and  my  two  children.  Then  I  said  :  '  I  will  live  for 
the  soul.  That  is  all  that  has  any  lasting  worth.  I  will  give 
up  everything  for  the  good  of  others,  and  go  over  the  sea,  and 
teach  the  children  of  the  forest.'  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  see 
Black  Hawk,  who  has  promised  to  send  out  with  me  an  inter- 
preter and  guide.  I  have  given  up  my  will,  my  property,  and 
my  name,  and  I  am  happy.  Good-by,  my  friends.  I  have 
nothing,  and  am  happy." 

At  this  point  Aunt  Olive's  corn-field  bonnet  rose  up,  and 
her  voice  rang  out  on  the  air : 

"  My  brother,  I  wish  you  well ! 
My  brother,  I  wish  you  well ! 
When  my  Lord  calls,  I  hope  I  shall 
Be  mentioned  in  the  promised  land. 

"  My  sister,  I  wish  you  well ! "  etc. 
"  Poor  sinners,  I  wish  you  well ! "  etc. 

Galilee!  There  was  one  merry,  fun-making  boy  in  that 
sacred  place,  to  whom,  according  to  tradition,  that  word  had  a 
charm.  He  used  to  love  to  mimic  the  old  backwoods  preach- 
ers, and  he  became  very  skeptical  in  matters  of  Christian  faith 
and  doctrine,  but  he  never  forgot  the  teachings  of  the  Teacher 
of  Galilee.  In  the  terrible  duties  that  fell  to  his  lot  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Galilean  teachings  came  home  to  his  heart,  and 
he  came  to  know  in  experience  what  he  had  not  accepted  from 
the  mouths  of  men.  He  is  said  to  have  said,  just  before  his 
death,  which  bowed  the  nation :  "  When  the  cares  of  state  are 
over,  I  want  to  go  to  Galilee,"  or  words  of  like  meaning.  The 
legend  is  so  beautiful  that  we  could  wish  it  to  be  true. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
AUNT  INDIANA'S  PROPHECIES. 

ASPER  heard  the  local  stories  at  the  smithy  and 
at  Aunt  Indiana's  with  intense  interest.  To 
him  they  furnished  a  study  of  the  character  of 
the  people.  They  were  not  like  stories  of  beau- 
tiful spiritual  meaning  that  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  hear  at  Marienthal,  at  Weimar,  and  on  the  Rhine. 
The  tales  of  Richter,  Haupt,  Hoffman,  and  Baron  Fouque 
could  never  have  been  created  here.  These  new  settlements 
called  for  the  incident  or  joke  that  represented  a  practical 
fact,  and  not  the  soul-growth  of  imagination.  The  one  ques- 
tion of  education  was.  "  Can  you  cipher  to  the  rule  of 
three  ?  "  and  of  religion,  "  Have  you  found  the  Lord  ?  " 
The  favorite  tales  were  of  Indians,  bears,  and  ghosts,  and  the 
rough  hardships  that  overcome  life.  Jasper  heard  these  tales 
with  a  sympathetic  heart. 

The  true  German  story  is  a  parable,  a  word  with  a  soul. 
Jasper  loved  them,  for  the  tales  of  a  people  are  the  heart  of  a 
people,  and  express  the  progress  of  culture  and  opinion. 

One  day,  as  Jasper  was  cobbling  at  Aunt  Olive's,  he  sought 
to  teach  her  a  lesson  of  contentment  by  a  German  household 
story.  Johnnie  Kongapod  had  come  in,  and  the  woman  was 
complaining  of  her  hard  and  restricted  life. 

(108) 


AUNT  INDIANA'S  PROPHECIES.  109 

"  Aunt  Indiana,"  said  Jasper,  "  do  you  have  fairies  here  ?  " 

"  Never  have  seen  any.  We  don't  spin  air  here  in  Amer- 
ica." 

"  We  have  fairies  in  Germany.  All  the  children  there  pass 
through  fairy-land.  There  once  came  a  fairy  to  an  old  couple 
who  were  complaining,  like  you." 

"  Like  me  ?  I'm  the  contentedest  woman  in  these  parts. 
"Tis  no  harm  to  wish  for  what  you  haven't  got." 

"  There  came  a  fairy  to  them,  and  said : 

"  '  You  may  have  three  wishes.     Wish.' 

"  The  old  couple  thought : 

" '  We  must  be  very  wise,'  said  the  woman, '  and  not  make 
any  mistake,  since  we  can  only  wish  three  times.  I  wish  I  had 
a  pudding.' 

"  Immediately  there  came  a  pudding  upon  the  table.  The 
poor  woman  was  greatly  surprised. 

" '  There,  you  see  what  you  have  done  by  your  foolish 
wishing ! '  said  the  man. 

" '  One  of  our  opportunities  has  gone,'  said  the  woman.  '  We 
have  but  two  chances  left.  We  must  be  wiser.1 

"They  sat  and  looked  into  the  fire.  The  fairy  had  dis- 
appeared from  the  hearth,  and  there  were  only  embers  and 
ashes  there. 

"  The  man  grew  angry  that  his  wife  had  lost  one  of  their 
opportunities. 

"'Nothin'  but  a  pudding!'  said  he.  'I  wish  that  that 
miserable  pudding  were  hung  to  your  nose  ! ' 

"  The  pudding  leaped  from  the  table  and  hung  at  tho  end 
of  the  old  woman's  nose. 


HO  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  '  There  ! '  said  she,  *  now  you  see  what  you  have  done  by 
your  foolish  wishing.' 

"  The  old  man  sighed.  '  "We  have  but  one  wish  left.  "We 
must  now  be  the  wisest  people  in  all  the  world.' 

"  They  watched  the  dying  embers,  and  thought.  As  they 
did  so,  the  pudding  grew  heavy  at  the  end  of  the  old  woman's 
nose.  At  last  she  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

"  '  Oh ! '  she  said,  '  how  I  wish  that  pudding  was  off  again ! ' 

"The  pudding  disappeared,  and  the  fairy  was  gone." 

"  Tain't  true,"  said  Aunt  Indiana. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jasper,  "  what  is  true  to  life  is  true.  Stories 
are  the  alphabet  of  life." 

Johnnie  Kongapod  had  listened  to  the  tale  with  delight. 
Aunt  Indiana  knew  that  no  fairy  would  ever  appear  on  her 
hearth,  but  Johnnie  was  not  so  sure. 

"  I've  seen  'em,"  said  he. 

"  You — what  ?  "What  have  you  seen  ?  I'd  like  to  know," 
said  Aunt  Indiana. 

"  Fairies—" 

"Where?" 

"  When  I've  been  asleep." 

"  There  never  was  any  fairies  in  my  dreams,"  said  Aunt 
Indiana. 

No,  there  were  not.  The  German  Tunker  and  the  prairie 
Indian  might  see  fairies,  but  the  hard-working  Yankee  pioneer 
had  no  faculties  for  creative  fancy.  Her  fairy  was  the  plow 
that  breaks  the  ground,  or  the  axe  that  fells  the  timber.  Yet 
the  German  soul-tale  seemed  to  haunt  her,  and  she  at  last  said  : 

"I  wish  that  we  had  more  such  stories  as  that.     It  is 


AUNT  INDIANA'S  PROPHECIES.  HI 

pleasant  talk.  Abe  Lincoln  tells  such  things  out  of  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress.  He's  all  imagination,  just  like  you  and 
the  Indians.  People  who  don't  have  much  to  do  run  to  such 
things.  I  suppose  that  he  has  read  that  Pilgrim's  Progress 
over  a  dozen  times." 

"  I  have  observed  that  the  boy  had  ideals,"  said  Jasper. 

"  What's  them  ?  "  said  Aunt  Indiana. 

"  People  build  life  out  of  ideals,"  said  Jasper.  "  A  cathe- 
dral is  an  ideal  before  it  is  a  form.  So  is  a  house,  a  glass — 
everything.  He  has  the  creative  imagination." 

"  Yes — that's  what  I  said :  always  going  around  with  a  book 
in  his  hand,  as  though  he  was  walking  on  the  air." 

"  His  step-mother  says  that  he's  one  of  the  best  of  boys.  He 
does  everything  that  he  can  for  her,  and  he  has  never  given  her 
an  unkind  word.  He  loves  his  step-mother  like  an  own  mother, 
and  he  forgets  himself  for  others.  These  are  good  signs." 

"  Signs — signs !  Stop  your  cobblin',  elder,  and  let  me  proph- 
esy !  That  boy  just  takes  after  his  father,  and  he  will  never 
amount  to  anything  in  this  world  or  any  other.  His  mother 
what  is  dead  was  a  good  woman — an  awful  good  woman ; 
but  she  was  sort  o'  visionary.  They  say  that  she  used  to  see 
things  at  camp-meetin's,  and  lose  her  strength,  and  have  far- 
away visions.  She  might  have  seen  fairies.  But  she  was  an 
awful  good  woman — good  to  everybody,  and  everybody  loved 
her ;  and  we  were  all  sorry  when  she  died,  and  we  all  love  her 
grave  yet.  It  is  queer,  but  we  all  seem  to  love  her  grave.  A 
sermon  goes  better  when  it  is  preached  there  under  the 
great  trees.  Some  folks  had  rather  hear  a  sermon  preached 
there  than  at  the  meetin'-house.  Some  people  leave  a  kind  o' 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

influence ;  Miss  Linken  did.  The  boy  means  well — his  heart 
is  all  right,  like  his  poor  dead  mother's  was — but  he  hasn't  got 
any  head  on  'im,  like  as  I  have.  He  hasn't  got  any  calcula- 
tion. And  now,  elder,  I'm  goin'  to  say  it,  though  I'm  sorry  to : 
he'll  never  amount  to  shucks !  There,  now  !  Josiah  Crawford 
says  so,  too." 

"  There  is  one  very  strong  point  about  Abraham,"  said 
Jasper.  "  He  has  a  keen  sense  of  what  is  right,  and  he  is  al- 
ways governed  by  it.  He  has  faith  that  right  is  might.  Didn't 
you  ever  notice  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  do  him  justice.  I  never  knew  him  to  do  a  thing 
that  he  thought  wrong — never.  He  couldn't.  He  takes  after 
his  mother's  folks,  and  they  say  that  there  is  Quaker  blood  in 
the  Linkens." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  a  fool  would  be  wise  if  he  always 
did  right,  wouldn't  he  ?  There  is  no  higher  wisdom  than  to 
always  do  right.  And  a  boy  that  has  a  heart  to  feel  for  every 
one,  and  a  conscience  that  is  true  to  a  sense  of  right,  and  that 
loves  learning  more  than  anything  else,  and  studies  continu- 
ally, is  likely  to  find  a  place  in  the  world. 

"  Now,  I  am  going  to  prophesy.  This  country  is  going  to 
need  men  to  lead  them,  and  Abraham  Lincoln  will  one  day 
become  a  leader  among  men.  He  leads  now.  His  heart  leads ; 
his  mind  leads.  I  can  see  it.  The  world  here  is  going  to  need 
men  of  knowledge,  and  it  will  select  the  man  of  the  most  learn- 
ing who  has  the  most  heart,  the  most  sympathy  with  the 
people.  It  will  select  him.  I  have  a  spiritual  eye,  and  I  can 
see." 

"  A  leader  of  the  people — Abe  Lincoln  !    You  have  said  it 


AUNT  INDIANA'S  PROPHECIES.  H3 

now.  I  would  as  soon  think  of  Johnnie  Kongapod !  A  leader 
of  the  people!  Are  you  daft?  When  the  prairies  leap  into 
corn-fields  and  the  settlements  into  banks  of  gold,  and  men  can 
travel  a  mile  a  minute,  and  clodhoppers  become  merchants  and 
Congressers,  and  as  rich  as  Spanish  grandees,  then  Abraham 
Lincoln  may  become  a  leader  of  the  people,  but  not  till  then ! 
No,  elder,  you  are  no  Samuel,  that  has  come  down  here  among 
the  sons  of  Jesse  to  find  a  shepherd-boy  for  a  king.  You  ain't 
no  Samuel,  and  he  ain't  no  shepherd-boy.  He  all  runs  to  books 
and  legs,  and  I  tell  you  he  ain't  got  no  calculation.  Now,  I've 
prophesied  and  you've  prophesied." 

"  Time  tells  the  truth  about  all  things,"  said  Jasper.  "  We 
shall  meet,  if  I  make  my  circuits,  and  we  will  talk  of  our 
prophecies  in  other  years,  should  Providence  permit.  My  soul 
has  set  its  mark  on  that  boy :  wait,  and  we  will  see  if  the  voice 
within  me  speaks  true.  It  has  always  spoken  true  until  now." 

At  the  close  of  this  prophetic  dialogue  the  subject  of  it 
appeared  at  the  door.  He  was  a  tall  boy,  with  a  dark  face, 
homely,  ungainly,  awkward.  He  wore  a  raccoon-skin  cap,  a 
linsey-woolsey  shirt,  and  leather  breeches,  and  was  barefooted, 
although  the  weather  was  yet  cool.  He  did  not  look  like  one 
who  would  ever  cause  the  thrones  of  the  world  to  lean  and 
listen,  or  who  would  find  in  the  Emperor  of  all  the  Eussias 
the  heart  of  a  brother. 

"Abe,"  said  Aunt  Indiana,  "the  Tunker  here  has  been 
speakin'  well  of  you,  though  you  don't  deserve  it.  He  just 
says  as  how  you  are  goin'  to  be  somebody,  and  make  somethin' 
in  the  world.  I  hope  you  will,  though  you're  a  shaky  tree  to 
hang  hopes  on.  I  ain't  got  nothin'  ag'in  ye.  He  says  that 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

you'll  become  a  leader  among  men.  What  do  you  think  o' 
that,  Abe?  Don't  stand  there  gawkin'.  Come  in  and  sit 
down." 

"  It  helps  one  to  have  some  one  believe  in  him,"  said  the 
tall  boy.  "  One  tries  to  fulfill  the  good  prophecies  made  about 
him.  I  wish  I  was  good. — Thank  ye,  elder,  for  your  good 
opinion.  I  wonder  if  I  will  ever  make  anything  ?  I  sometimes 
think  I  will.  I  look  over  toward  mother's  grave  there,  and 
think  I  will ;  but  you  can't  tell.  Crawford  the  schoolmaster 
he  thinks  good  of  me,  but  the  other  Crawford — Josiah — he's 
ag'in  me.  But  if  we  do  right,  we'll  all  come  out  right." 

"  Yes,  my  boy,"  said  Jasper,  "  have  faith  that  right  is  might. 
This  is  what  the  Voice  and  the  Being  within  tells  me  to  preach 
and  to  teach.  Let  us  have  faith  that  right  is  might,  and  do 
our  duty,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  will  give  us  a  new  nature,  and 
make  us  new  creatures,  and  the  rebirth  of  the  spiritual  life  into 
the  eternal  kingdom." 

The  prairie  winds  breathed  through  the  trees.  A  robin 
came  and  sang  in  the  timber. 

The  four  sat  thoughtful — the  Tunker,  the  Indian,  the 
pioneer  woman,  and  the  merry,  sad-faced  boy.  It  was  a  com- 
mon-place scene  in  the  Indiana  timber,  and  that  one  lonely 
grave  is  all  that  is  left  to  recall  such  scenes  to-day — the  grave 
of  the  pioneer  mother. 


CHAPTEE  X. 
THE  INDIAN  RUNNER. 

HE  young  May  moon  was  hanging  over  the 
Mississippi  on  the  evening  when  Jasper  came 
to  the  village  of  the  Sacs  and  Foxes.  This 
royal  town,  the  head  residence  of  the  two 
tribes,  and  the  ancient  burying-ground  of  the 
Indian  race,  was  very  beautifully  situated  at  the  junction  of 
the  Eock  Eiver  with  the  Mississippi.  The  Father  of  Waters, 
which  is  in  many  places  turbid  and  uninteresting,  here  be- 
comes a  clear  and  impetuous  stream,  flowing  over  beds  of  rock 
and  gravel,  amid  high  and  wooded  shores.  The  rapids — the 
water-ponies  of  the  Indians — here  come  leaping  down,  surging 
and  foaming,  and  are  checked  by  monumental  islands.  The 
land  rises  from  the  river  in  slopes,  like  terraces,  crowned  with 
hills  and  patriarchal  trees.  From  these  hills  the  sight  is  glo- 
rious. On  one  hand  rolls  the  mighty  river,  and  on  the  other 
stretch  vast  prairies,  flower-carpeted,  sun-flooded,  a  sea  of  vege- 
tation, the  home  of  the  prairie  plover  and  countless  nesters  of 
the  bright,  warm  air.  It  is  a  park,  whose  extent  is  bounded  by 
hundreds  of  miles. 

Water-swept  and  beautiful  lies  Eock  Island,  where  on  a 
parapet  of  rock  was  built  Fort  Armstrong  in  the  days  of  the 
later  Indian  troubles. 

(115) 


116  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

The  royal  town  and  burying-ground  was  a  place  of  remark- 
-  able  fertility.  The  grape-vine  tangled  the  near  woods,  the  wild 
honeysuckle  perfumed  the  air,  and  wild  plums  blossomed  white 
in  May  and  purpled  with  fruit  in  summer.  If  ever  an  Indian 
race  loved  a  town,  it  was  this.  The  Indian  mind  is  poetic. 
Nature  is  the  book  of  poetry  to  his  instinct,  and  here  Nature 
was  poetic  in  all  her  moods. 

The  Indians  venerated  the  graves  of  their  ancestors.  Here 
they  kept  the  graves  beautiful,  and  often  carried  food  to  them 
and  left  it  for  the  dead. 

The  chant  at  these  graves  was  tender,  and  shows  that  the 
human  heart  everywhere  is  the  same.  It  was  like  this : 

"  Where  are  you,  my  father  f 

Oh,  where  are  you  now  ? 
I'm  longing  to  see  thee ; 
I'm  wailing  for  thee. 

(WaU.) 

"  Are  you  happy,  my  father! 

Are  you  happy  now  ? 

I'm  longing  to  see  thee  ; 

I'm  wailing  for  thee. 

(Wail.) 

"  Spring  comes  to  the  river. 

But  where,  then,  art  thou  f 
I'm  longing  to  see  thee ; 
I'm  wailing  for  thee. 

(Wail.) 

"  The  flowers  come  forever ; 

I'll  meet  thee  again ; 
I'm  longing  to  see  thee — 
Time  bears  me  to  thee ! " 

(WaU.) 


THE  INDIAN  RUNNER.  H7 

As  Jasper  ascended  the  high  bluffs  of  the  lodge  where 
Black  Hawk  dwelt,  he  was  followed  by  a  number  of  Indians 
who  came  out  of  their  houses  of  poles  and  bark,  and  greeted 
him  in  a  kindly  way.  The  dark  chief  met  him  at  the  door  of 
the  lodge. 

"You  are  welcome,  my  father.  The  new  moon  has  bent 
her  bow  over  the  waters,  and  you  have  come  back.  You  have 
kept  your  promise.  I  have  kept  mine.  There  is  the  boy." 

An  Indian  boy  of  lithe  and  graceful  form  came  out  of  the 
lodge,  followed  by  an  old  man,  who  was  his  uncle.  The  boy's 
name  was  Waubeno,  and  his  uncle's  was  Main-Pogue.  The 
latter  had  been  an  Indian  runner  in  Canada,  and  an  interpreter 
to  the  English  there.  He  spoke  English  well.  The  boy  Wau- 
beno had  been  his  companion  in  his  long  journeys,  and,  now 
that  the  interpreter  was  growing  old,  remained  true  to  him. 
The  three  stood  there,  looking  down  on  the  long  mirror  of  the 
Mississippi — Black  Hawk,  Main-Pogue,  and  Waubeno — and 
waiting  for  Jasper  to  speak. 

"  I  have  come  to  bring  .you  peace,"  said  Jasper — "  not  the 
silence  of  the  hawk  or  the  bow-string,  but  peace  here." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast,  and  all  the  Indians  did  the 
same. 

"  I  am  a  man  of  peace,"  continued  Jasper.  "  If  any  one 
should  seek  to  slay  me,  I  would  not  do  him  any  harm.  I  would 
forgive  him,  and  pray  that  his  blindness  might  go  from  his 
soul,  and  that  he  might  see  a  better  life.  You  welcome  me, 
you  are  true  to  me,  and,  whatever  may  happen,  I  will  be  true 
to  your  race." 

The  black  chief  bowed,  Main-Pogue,  and  the  boy  Waubeno. 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Black  Hawk.  "  Your  face  says  'yes' 
to  your  words.  The  Indian's  heart  is  always  true  to  a  friend. 
Sit  down ;  eat,  smoke  the  peace-pipe,  and  let  us  talk.  Sit 
down.  The  sky  is  clear,  and  the  night-bird  cries  for  joy  on 
her  wing.  Let  us  all  sit  down  and  talk.  The  river  rolls  on 
forever  by  the  graves  of  the  braves  of  old.  Let  us  sit  down." 

The  squaws  brought  Jaspef  some  cakes  and  fish,  and  Black 
Hawk  lighted  some  long  pipes  and  gave  them  to  Main-Pogue 
and  Waubeno. 

"  I  have  brought  the  boy  here  for  you,"  said  Black  Hawk. 
"  He  comes  of  the  blood  of  the  brave.  Let  me  tell  you  his 
story.  It  will  shame  the  pale-face,  but  let  me  tell  you  the 
story.  You  will  say  that  the  Indian  can  be  great,  like  the  pale- 
face, when  I  tell  you  his  story.  It  will  smite  your  heart. 
Listen." 

A  silence  followed,  during  which  a  few  puffs  of  smoke 
curled  into  the  air  from  the  black  chief's  pipe.  He  broke  his 
narrative  by  such  silences,  designed  to  be  impressive,  and  to 
offer  an  opportunity  for  thought  on  what  had  been  said. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  reader,  the  story  that  fol- 
lows is  substantially  true,  and  yet  nothing  in  classic  history  or 
modern  heroism  can  surpass  in  moral  grandeur  the  tale  that 
Black  Hawk  was  always  proud  to  tell : 

"  Father,  that  is  the  boy.  He  knows  all  the  ways  from  the 
Great  Lakes  to  the  long  river,  from  the  great  hills  to  Kaskaskia. 
You  can  trust  him ;  he  knows  the  ways.  Main-Pogue  knows 
all  the  ways.  Main-Pogue  was  a  runner  for  the  pale-face.  He 
has  taught  him  the  ways.  Their  hearts  are  like  one  heart, 
Main-Pogue's  and  Waubeno's. 


BLACK  HAWK  TELLS  THE  STORY  OF  WAUBENO. 


THE  INDIAN  RUNNER.  119 

"  His  father  is  dead,  Waubeno's.  Main-Pogue  has  been  a 
father  to  him.  They  would  die  for  each  other.  Main-Pogue 
says  that  Waubeno  may  run  with  you,  if  I  say  that  he  may  run. 
I  say  so,  Main-Pogue  and  Waubeno  are  true  to  me. 

"  The  boy's  father  is  dead,  I  said.  Who  was  the  father  of 
that  boy  ? — Waubeno,  stand  up." 

The  boy  arose,  like  a  tall  shadow.  There  was  a  silence,  and 
Black  Hawk  puffed  his  pipe,  then  laid  it  beside  his  blanket. 

"  Who  was  the  father  of  Waubeno  ?  He  was  a  brave,  a 
warrior.  He  wore  the  gray  plume,  and  honor  to  him  was  more 
than  life.  He  would  not  lie,  and  they  put  him  to  death.  He 
was  true  as  the  stars,  and  they  killed  him." 

There  followed  another  silence. 

"  Father,  you  teach.  You  teach  the  head ;  you  teach  the 
heart:  to  live  a  true  life,  is  the  thing  to  teach — the  thing 
you  call  conscience,  soul,  those  are  the  right  things  to  teach. 
What  are  books  to  the  head,  if  the  soul  is  not  taught  to  be 
true  ? 

"  Father,  the  father  of  Waubeno  could  teach  the  pale-face. 
In  the  head  ?  No,  in  the  heart  ?  No,  in  the  soul,  which  is  the 
true  book  of  the  Great  Spirit  that  you  call  God.  You  came  to 
us  to  teach  us  God.  It  is  good.  You  are  a  brother,  but  God 
came  to  us  before.  He  has  written  the  law  of  right  in  the  soul 
of  every  man.  The  right  will  find  the  light.  You  teach  the 
way — you  bring  the  Word  of  him  who  died  for  mankind.  It  is 
good.  I've  got  you  a  runner  to  run  with  you.  It  is  good. 
You  help  the  right  to  find  the  light. 

"  Father,  listen.  I  am  about  to  speak.  Before  the  great 
war  with  the  British  brother  (1812)  that  boy's  father  struck 
9 


120  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

down  to  the  earth  a  pale-face  who  had  done  him  wrong.  The 
white  man  died.  He  who  wrongs  another  does  not  deserve  the 
sun.  He  died,  and  his  soul  went  to  the  shadows.  The  Brit- 
ish took  the  red  warrior  prisoner  for  killing  this  man  who 
had  wronged  him.  Waubeno  was  a  little  one  then,  when  they 
took  his  father  prisoner. 

"  The  British  told  the  old  warrior  that  they  had  condemned 
him  to  die. 

" '  I  am  not  afraid  to  die,'  said  the  warrior.  '  Let  me  go  to 
the  Ouisconsin  (Wisconsin)  and  see  my  family  once  more,  and 
whisper  my  last  wish  in  the  ear  of  my  boy,  and  I  will  return  to 
you  and  die.  I  will  return  at  the  sunrise.' 

" '  You  would  never  return,'  said  the  commander  of  the 
stockade. 

"  The  warrior  strode  before  him. 

" '  Can  a  true  man  lie  ? ' 

"  The  commander  looked  into  his  face,  and  saw  his  soul. 

"  '  Well,  go,'  said  he.  *  I  would  like  to  see  an  Indian  who 
would  come  back  to  die.' 

"  The  warrior  went  home,  under  the  stars.  He  told  his 
squaw  all.  He  had  six  little  children,  and  he  hugged  them  all. 
Waubeno  was  the  oldest  boy.  He  told  him  all,  and  pressed  him 
to  his  heart.  He  whispered  in  his  ear. — What  was  it  he  said, 
Waubeno?" 

The  shadowy  form  of  the  boy  swayed  in  the  dim  light,  as  he 
answered.  He  said : 

"'Avenge  my  death!  Honor  my  memory.  The  Great 
Spirit  will  teach  you  how.'  That  is  what  my  father  said  to  me, 
and  I  felt  the  beating  of  his  heart." 


THE  INDIAN  RUNNER. 

There  was  a  deep  silence.    Then  Black  Hawk  said : 

"  The  warrior  looked  down  on  the  Ouisconsin  under  the 
stars.  He  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  cried,  '  Lead  thou  my 
boy ! '  Then  he  set  his  face  toward  the  stockades  of  Prairie  du 
Chien. 

"He  strode  across  the  prairie  as  the  sun  was  rising;  he 
arrived  in  time,  and —  Father,  listen ! " 

There  was  another  silence,  so  deep  that  one  might  almost 
hear  the  puffing  smoke  as  it  rose  on  the  air. 

"  They  shot  him  I    That  is  his  boy,  Waubeno." 

Jasper  stood  silent ;  he  thought  of  Johnnie  Kongapod's 
story,  and  the  night-scene  at  Pigeon  Creek. 

"  I  shall  teach  him  a  better  way,"  said  Jasper,  at  last.  "  I 
will  lead  him  to  honor  the  memory  of  his  great  father  in  a  way 
that  he  does  not  now  know.  The  Great  Spirit  will  guide  us 
both.  His  father  was  a  great  man.  I  will  lead  him  to  become 
a  greater." 

"  Father,"  said  the  boy,  coming  forward,  "  I  will  always  be 
true  to  you,  but  I  have  sworn  by  the  stars." 

Jasper  stood  like  one  in  a  dream.  Could  such  a  tale  as 
this  be  true  among  savages?  Honor  like  this  only  needed  the 
gospel  teaching  to  do  great  deeds.  Jasper  saw  his  opportunity, 
and  his  love  of  mankind  never  glowed  before  as  it  did  then. 
He  folded  his  hands,  closed  his  eyes,  and  his  silent  thoughts 
winged  upward  to  the  skies. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE  CABIN  NEAR  CHICAGO. 

AS  PER  and  "Waubeno  crossed  the  prairies  to 
Lake  Michigan.  It  was  June,  the  high  tide  of 
the  year.  The  long  days  poured  their  sunlight 
over  the  seas  of  flowers.  The  prairie  winds 
were  cool,  and  the  new  vegetation  was  alive 
with  insects  and  birds. 

The  first  influence  that  Jasper  tried  to  exert  on  Waubeno 
was  to  induce  him  to  forego  the  fixed  resolution  to  avenge  his 
father's  death. 

"  The  first  thing  in  education,"  he  used  to  say,  "  is  con- 
science, the  second  is  the  heart,  and  the  third  is  the  head." 

He  had  planned  to  teach  Waubeno  while  the  Indian  boy 
should  be  teaching  him,  and  he  wished  to  follow  his  own  theory 
that  a  new  pupil  should  first  learn  to  be  governed  by  his  moral 
sense. 

"  Waubeno,"  he  said,  in  their  long  walk  over  the  prairie, 
"  I  wish  to  teach  you  and  make  you  wise,  but  before  I  can 
do  you  justice  you  must  make  a  promise.  Will  you,  Wau- 
beno?" 

"  I  will.     You  would  not  ask  me  to  do  what  is  wrong." 

"  It  may  be  a  hard  thing,  but,  Waubeno,  I  wish  you  to 

(128) 


THE  CABIN  NEAR  CHICAGO.  123 

promise  me  that  you  will  never  seek  to  avenge  your  father. 
Will  you,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"  Parable,  I  will  promise  you  any  right  thing  but  that.  I 
have  made  another  promise  about  that  thing — it  must  hold." 

"  Waubeno,  I  can  not  teach  you  as  I  would  while  you  carry 
malice  in  your  heart.  The  soul  does  not  see  clearly  that  is 
dark  with  evil.  Do  you  see  ?  I  wish  it  for  your  good." 

"  The  white  man  punishes  his  enemies,  does  he  not  ?  Why 
should  not  I  avenge  a  wrong  ?  The  white  fathers  at  Maiden  " 
(the  trade-post  on  Lake  Erie)  "  avenge  every  wrong  that  is 
done  them  by  the  Indians,  do  they  not  ?  " 

"  Christ  died  for  his  enemies.  He  forgave  them,  dying. 
You  have  heard." 

*'  Then  why  do  his  followers  not  do  the  same  ?  " 

"  They  do." 

"  I  have  never  seen  one  who  did." 

"  Not  one  ?  " 

"  No,  not  one." 

"  Then  they  are  false  to  the  cross.  Waubeno,  I  love  you. 
I  am  seeking  your  good.  Trust  me.  I  would  make  you  any 
promise  that  I  could.  Make  me  this  promise,  and  then  we  will 
be  brothers.  Your  vow  rises  between  us  like  a  cloud." 

"  Parable,  listen.     I  will  promise,  on  one  condition." 

"  What,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"You  say  that  right  is  might,  Parable?" 

"  Yes." 

"  When  I  find  a  single  white  man  who  defends  an  Indian  to 
his  own  hurt  because  it  is  right,  I  will  promise.  I  have  known 
many  white  men  who  defended  the  Indian  because  they 


124:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD   OF   LINCOLN. 

thought  that  it  was  good  for  them  to  do  it — good  for  their 
pockets,  good  for  their  church,  good  for  their  souls  in  another 
world — but  never  one  to  his  own  harm,  because  it  was  right ; 
listen,  Parable — never  one  to  his  own  harm  because  it  was 
right.  When  I  meet  one — such  a  one — I  will  promise  you  what 
you  ask.  Parable,  my  folks  did  right  because  it  was  right." 

"  Waubeno,  I  once  knew  a  boy  who  defended  a  turtle  to  his 
own  harm,  because  it  was  right.  The  boys  laughed  at  him,  but 
his  soul  was  true  to  the  turtle." 

"  I  would  like  to  meet  that  boy,"  Waubeno  said.  "  He  and 
I  would  be  brothers.  But  I  have  never  seen  such  a  boy,  Para- 
ble. I  have  never  seen  any  man  who  had  the  worth  of  my  own 
father,  and,  till  I  do,  I  shall  hold  to  my  vow  to  him !  God 
heard  that  vow,  and  he  shall  see  that  I  prove  true  to  a  man 
who  died  for  the  truth  !  " 

The  two  came  in  sight  of  blue  Lake  Michigan,  where  the 
old  Jesuit  explorer  had  had  a  vision  of  a  great  city ;  and  where 
Point  au  Sable,  the  San  Domingo  negro,  for  a  time  settled,  hop- 
ing to  be  made  an  Indian  king.  Here  he  found  the  hospitable 
roofs  of  John  Kinzie,  the  pioneer  of  Chicago,  the  Eomulus  of 
the  great  mid-continent  city,  where  storehouses  abounded  with 
peltries  and  furs. 

John  Kinzie  (the  father  of  the  famous  John  H.  Kinzie) 
was  a  grand  pioneer,  like  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  the  elder  day. 
He  dealt  honestly  with  the  Indians,  and  won  the  hearts  of  the 
several  tribes.  He  settled  in  Chicago  in  1804,  at  which  time  a 
block-house  was  built  by  the  Government  as  a  frontier  house  or 
garrison.  This  frontier  house  stood  near  the  present  Eush 
Street  Bridge.  Mr.  Kinzie's  house  stood  on  the  north  side  of 


THE  CABIN  NEAR  CHICAGO.  125 

the  Chicago  Eiver,  opposite  the  fort.  The  storm-beaten  block- 
house was  to  be  seen  in  Chicago  as  late  as  1857,  and  the  place 
of  Mr.  Kinzie's  home  will  ever  be  held  as  sacred  ground.  The 
frontier  house  was  known  as  Fort  Dearborn.  A  little  settle- 
ment grew  around  the  fort  and  the  hospitable  doors  of  Mr. 
Kinzie,  until  in  1830  it  numbered  twelve  houses.  Twelve 
houses  in  Chicago  in  1830  !  Pass  the  bridge  of  sixty  years,  and 
lo  !  the  rival  city  of  the  Western  world,  with  its  more  than  a 
million  people — more  than  fulfilling  the  old  missionary's  dream ! 

For  twenty  years  John  Kinzie  was  the  only  white  man  not 
connected  with  the  garrison  and  trading-post  who  lived  in 
northern  Illinois.  He  was  a  witness  of  the  Indian  massacre  of 
the  troops  in  1812,  when  he  himself  was  driven  from  his  home 
by  the  lake. 

He  saw  another  and  different  scene  in  August,  1821 — a 
scene  worthy  of  a  poet  or  painter — the  Great  Treaty,  in  which 
the  Indian  chiefs  gave  up  most  of  their  empire  east  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. There  came  to  this  decisive  convocation  the  plumes 
of  the  Ottawas,  Chippewas,  and  Pottawattamies.  General  Cass 
was  there,  and  the  old  Indian  agents.  The  chiefs  brought  with 
them  their  great  warriors,  their  wives  and  children.  There  the 
prairie  Indians  made  their  last  stand  but  one  against  the 
march  of  emigration  to  the  Mississippi. 

Me-te-nay,  the  young  orator  of  the  Pottawattamies,  was 
there,  to  make  a  poetic  appeal  for  his  race.  But  the  counsels 
of  the  white  chiefs  were  too  persuasive  and  powerful.  A  treaty 
was  concluded,  which  virtually  gave  up  the  Indian  empire  east 
of  the  Mississippi. 

Then  the  chiefs  and  the  warriors  departed,  their  red  plumes 


126  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

disappearing  over  the  prairie  in  the  sunset  light.  Before  them 
rolled  the  Mississippi.  Behind  them  lay  the  blue  seas  of  the 
lakes.  It  was  a  sorrowful  procession  that  slowly  faded  away. 
Some  twelve  years  after,  in  August,  1835,  another  treaty  was 
concluded  with  the  remaining  tribes,  and  there  occurred  the 
last  dance  of  the  Pottawattamies  on  the  grounds  where  the 
city  of  Chicago  now  stands. 

Five  thousand  Indians  were  present,  and  nearly  one  thou- 
sand joined  in  the  dance.  The  latter  assembled  at  the  council- 
house,  on  the  place  where  now  is  the  northeast  corner  of  North 
Water  and  Rush  Streets,  and  where  the  Lake  House  stands. 
Their  faces  were  painted  in  black  and  vermilion;  their  hair 
was  gathered  in  scalp-locks  on  the  tops  of  their  heads,  and 
was  decorated  with  Indian  plumes.  They  were  led  by  drums 
and  rattles.  They  marched  in  a  dancing  movement  along  the 
river,  and  stopped  before  each  house  to  perform  the  grotesque 
figures  of  their  ancient  traditions. 

They  seemed  to  be  aware  that  this  was  their  last  gathering 
on  the  lake.  The  thought  fired  them.  Says  one  who  saw 
them : 

"  Their  eyes  were  wild  and  bloodshot.  Their  muscles  stood 
out  in  great,  hard  knots,  as  if  wrought  to  a  tension  that  must 
burst  them.  Their  tomahawks  and  clubs  were  thrown  and 
brandished  in  every  direction." 

The  dance  was  carried  on  in  a  procession  through  the 
peaceful  streets,  and  was  concluded  at  Fort  Dearborn  in 
presence  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  garrison.  It  was  the 
last  great  Indian  gathering  on  the  lake. 

A  new  civilization  began  in  the  vast  empire  of  the  inland 


THE  CABIN  NEAR  CHICAGO.  127 

seas  with  the  signing  of  the  Treaty  of  Chicago  and  these  con- 
cluding rites.  Around  the  home  of  pastoral  John  Kinzie  were 
to  gather  the  new  emigrations  of  the  nations  of  the  world,  and 
the  Queen  City  of  the  Lakes  was  to  rise,  and  Progress  to  make 
the  seat  of  her  empire  here.  Never  in  the  history  of  mankind 
did  a  city  leap  into  life  like  this,  which  is  now  setting  on  her 
brow  the  crown  of  the  Columbus  domes. 

On  the  arrival  of  Jasper  and  Waubeno  at  Fort  Dearborn, 
an  incident  occurred  which  affords  a  picture  of  the  vanished 
days  of  the  prairie  chiefs  and  kings.  There  came  riding  up  to 
the  trading-houses  a  middle-aged  chief  named  Shaubena. 

This  chief  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  guardian  spirit  of 
the  infant  city  of  Chicago.  He  hovered  around  her  for  her 
good  for  a  half-century,  and  was  faithful  to  her  interests  from 
the  first  to  the  end  of  his  long  life.  If  ever  an  Indian  merited 
a  statue  or  an  imperishable  memorial  in  a  great  city,  it  is 
Shaubena. 

He  was  born  about  the  year  1775,  on  the  Kankakee  River. 
His  home  was  on  a  prairie  island,  as  a  growth  of  timber  sur- 
rounded by  a  prairie  used  to  be  called.  It  was  near  the  head- 
waters of  Big  Indian  Creek,  now  in  De  Kalb  County.  This 
grove,  or  prairie  island,  still  bears  his  name. 

Here  were  his  corn-fields,  his  sugar-camps,  his  lodges,  and 
his  happy  people.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  employed  by  two 
Ottawa  priests,  or  prophets,  to  instruct  the  people  in  the 
principles  of  their  religion,  and  so  he  had  traveled  extensively 
in  the  land  of  the  lakes,  and  spoke  English  well.  The  old 
Methodist  circuit-riders  used  to  visit  him  on  his  prairie  island, 
and  his  family  was  brought  under  their  influence  and  accepted 


IX   THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

their  faith.  When,  in  1812,  Indian  runners  from  Tecumseh 
visited  the  tribal  towns  of  the  Illinois  Biver  to  tell  the  warriors 
that  war  had  been  declared  between  the  United  States  and 
England,  and  to  counsel  them  to  unite  with  the  English, 
Shaubena  endeavored  to  restrain  his  people  from  such  a  course, 
and  to  prevent  a  union  of  the  tribes  against  the  American 
settlers.  When  he  found  that  the  Indians  were  marching 
against  Chicago,  he  followed  them  on  his  pony. 

He  arrived  too  late.  A  scene  of  blood  met  his  eyes.  Along 
the  lake,  where  the  blue  waves  rolled  in  the  sun,  lay  forty-two 
dead  bodies,  the  remains  of  white  soldiers,  women,  and  children. 
These  bodies  lay  on  the  prairie  for  four  years,  until  the  rebuild- 
ing of  Fort  Dearborn  in  1816,  with  the  exception  of  the  muti- 
lated remains  of  Captain  Wells,  which  Black  Partridge  buried. 

John  Kinzie  and  his  family  had  been  saved,  largely  by  the 
influence  of  Shaubena.  Black  Partridge  summoned  his  warriors 
to  protect  the  house.  Shaubena  rushed  up  to  the  porch- steps 
and  set  his  rifle  across  the  doorway.  The  rooms  were  occupied 
by  Mrs.  Kinzie,  her  children,  and  Mrs.  Helm  A  party  of 
excited  Indians  rushed  upon  the  place  and  forced  their  way 
into  the  house,  to  kill  the  women.  The  intended  massacre  was 
delayed  by  the  friendly  Indians. 

In  the  mean  time  a  half-breed  girl,  who  had  been  employed 
by  good  John  Kinzie,  and  who  was  devoted  to  his  family,  had 
stolen  across  the  prairie  to  Sauganash,  or  Billy  Caldwell,  the 
friendly  chief.  This  warrior  seized  his  canoe  and  came  pad- 
dling down  the  waters,  plumed  with  eagle-feathers,  with  a  rifle 
in  his  hand.  He  rose  up  in  his  canoe,  in  the  dark,  as  he  came 
to  the  shore. 


THE  CABIN  NEAR  CHICAGO.  129 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  Black  Partridge. 

"  I  am  Sauganash." 

"  Then  save  your  white  friends.     You  only  can  save  them." 

The  chief  came  to  the  house. 

"  Go ! "  he  said  to  the  Indians.     "  I  am  Sauganash  ! " 

John  Kinzie  was  not  only  ever  after  grateful  to  Sauganash 
and  the  half-breed  girl  for  what  they  had  done  to  save  him  and 
his  family,  but  he  saw  that  he  had  found  a  faithful  heart  iu 
Shaubena.  So  when,  to-day,  Shaubena  came  riding  up  to  his 
door  from  his  prairie  island  on  his  little  pony,  he  said, 
heartily : 

"  Shaubena,  thou  art  welcome  ! " 

Jasper  and  Waubeno  joined  John  Kinzie  and  the  prairie 
chief. 

"  Thou,  too  art  welcome,"  said  John  Kinzie.  "  Whence  do 
you  come  ?  " 

Jasper  told  again  his  simple  story :  how  that  he  was  a 
Tunker,  traveling  to  preach  to  every  one,  and  to  hold  schools 
among  the  Indians ;  how  that  he  had  been  to  Black  Hawk  for 
an  interpreter  and  guide,  and  how  Black  Hawk  had  sent  out 
Waubeno  as  his  companion. 

Jasper  and  Waubeno  built  a  cabin  of  logs,  bark,  and  bushes, 
in  view  of  the  lake,  a  little  distance  above  the  fort.  They  spent 
several  days  on  the  rude  structure. 

"  There  are  many  Indian  children  who  come  to  the  trading- 
post,"  said  Jasper,  "  and  I  may  be  able  to  begin  here  my  first 
Indian  school.  You  will  do  all  you  can  for  me,  will  you  not, 
Waubeno?" 

"  Parable,  listen !    You  love  my  people,  and  I  will  do  all 


130  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

that  this  arm,  this  heart,  and  this  head  can  do  for  you.  "What- 
ever may  happen,  I  will  be  true  to  you.  If  it  costs  my  life,  I 
will  be  true  to  you  !  You  may  have  my  life.  Do  you  not  be- 
lieve Waubeno  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  you,  Waubeno.  You  hold  honor  dearer  than 
life.  You  say  that  I  love  your  people.  You  know  that  I  would 
do  right  by  your  people,  to  my  own  harm.  Then  why  will  you 
not  make  to  me  the  promise  I  sought  from  you  on  the  prairie  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  tried.  We  know  not  any  one  until  he 
is  tried.  My  father  was  tried.  He  was  true.  I  would  talk 
with  the  boy  that  was  laughed  at  for  defending  the  turtle.  He 
was  tried.  He  did  right  because  it  was  right.  We  will  know 
each  other  better  by  and  by.  But  Waubeno  will  always  be  true 
to  you  while  you  are  true  to  Waubeno." 

The  school  opened  in  the  new  cabin  about  the  time  that  the 
troops  were  withdrawn  from  the  fort  and  the  place  left  in  the 
charge  of  the  Indian  agent.  Waubeno  was  the  teacher,  and 
Jasper  his  only  pupil.  After  a  time  Jasper  secured  a  few  pupils 
from  the  post-trading  Indians.  But  these  remained  but  for  a 
short  time.  They  did  not  like  the  confinement  of  instruction. 

One  day  a  striking  event  occurred.  The  Indian  agent  came 
to  visit  the  school.  He  was  interested  in  the  Indian  boys,  and 
especially  in  the  progress  of  Waubeno,  who  was  quick  to  learn. 
Before  leaving,  he  said  : 

"  I  have  a  medal  in  my  hand.  It  was  given  to  me  by  the 
general  of  Michigan.  On  one  side  of  it  is  the  Father  of  his 
Country — see  him  with  his  sword — Washington,  the  immortal 
Washington." 

He  held  up  the  medal  and  paused. 


THE  CABIN  NEAE  CHICAGO.  131 

"  On  the  other  side  is  an  Indian  chief.  He  is  burying  his 
hatchet.  I  was  given  the  medal  as  a  reward,  and  I  will  give  it 
at  the  end  of  three  weeks  to  the  boy  in  this  school  who  best 
learns  his  lessons.  Jasper  shall  decide  who  it  shall  be." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  said  that,"  said  Jasper.  "  That  is  the 
education  of  good-will.  I  am  glad." 

The  Indian  boys  studied  well,  but  Waubeno  excelled  them 
all.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks  the  Indian  agent  again  ap- 
peared, and  Jasper  hoped  to  gain  the  heart  of  Waubeno  by  the 
award  of  the  medal. 

"  To  whom  shall  I  give  the  medal  ?  "  asked  the  agent,  at 
the  end  of  the  visit. 

Jasper  looked  at  his  boy. 

"  It  has  been  won  by  Waubeno,"  said  Jasper.  "  I  would  be 
unjust  not  to  say  that  all  have  been  faithful,  but  Waubeno  has 
been  the  most  faithful  of  all." 

Waubeno  sat  like  a  statue.     He  did  not  lift  his  eyes. 

"  Waubeno,"  said  the  agent,  "  you  have  heard  what  your 
teacher  has  said.  The  medal  is  yours.  Here  it  is.  You  have 
reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  Waubeno,  arise." 

Waubeno  arose.     The  agent  held  out  the  medal  to  him. 

"  Will  you  let  me  look  at  the  medal  ?  "  said  the  boy. 

The  medal  was  handed  to  him.  He  examined  it.  He  did 
not  smile,  or  show  any  emotion.  His  look  was  indifferent  and 
stoical.  What  was  passing  in  his  mind  ? 

"  The  Indian  chief  is  burying  his  hatchet,  in  the  picture  on 
this  side  of  the  medal,"  he  said,  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Indian  agent,  "  he  is  a  good  chief." 

"  The  picture  on  this  side  represents  Washington,  you  say  ?  " 


132  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Yes — "Washington,  the  Father  of  his  Country." 

"  He  has  a  sword  by  his  side,  general,  has  he  not  ?    See." 

"  Yes,  "Waubeno,  he  has  a  sword  by  his  side." 

" He  is  a  good  chief,  too? " 

"  Yes,  Waubeuo." 

"  Then  why  does  he  not  bury  his  sword?  I  do  not  want  the 
medal.  What  is  good  for  the  red  chief  should  be  as  good  for 
the  white  chief.  I  would  be  unlike  my  father  to  take  a  mean 
thing  like  that." 

He  stood  like  a  statue,  with  curled  lip  and  a  fiery  eye.  The 
agent  looked  queerly  at  Jasper.  He  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
He  took  back  the  medal  and  went  away.  When  he  had  gone, 
Waubeno  said  to  Jasper : 

"  Pardon,  brother ;  he  is  not  the  man — my  promise  to  my 
father  holds.  They  teach  well,  but  they  do  not  do  well :  it  is 
the  doing  that  speaks  to  the  heart.  The  chief  that  buried  his 
hatchet  is  a  plumb  fool,  else  the  white  chief  would  do  so  too. 
I  have  spoken  ! " 

He  sat  down  in  silence  and  looked  out  upon  the  lake,  on 
which  the  waves  were  breaking  into  foam  in  the  purple  dis- 
tances. His  face  had  an  injured  look,  and  his  eyes  glowed. 

He  arose  at  last  and  raised  his  hand,  and  said : 

"  I  will  pay  them  all  some  day ! — " 

Then  he  turned  to  Jasper  and  marked  his  disappointed 
face,  and  added : 

"  I  will  be  true  to  you.    Waubeno  will  be  true  to  you." 


CHAPTEE  XII. 
THE  WHITE  INDIAN  OF  CHICAGO. 

NE  morning,  as  Jasper  threw  aside  the  curtain 
of  skins  that  answered  for  a  door  to  his  cabin, 
a  strange  sight  met  his  eyes.  In  the  clearing 
between  the  cabin  and  the  lake  stood  the  tall 
form  of  an  Indian.  It  was  the  most  noble  and 
beautiful  form  that  he  had  ever  seen,  and  the  Indian's  face 
and  hands  were  white. 

Jasper  stood  silent.  The  white  Indian  bent  his  eyes  upon 
him,  and  the  two  looked  in  surprise  at  each  other. 

The  Indian's  eyes  were  dark,  and  like  the  eyes  of  the  native 
races ;  but  his  nose  was  Roman,  and  his  skin  English,  with  a 
slight  brown  tinge.  His  hair  was  long  and  curly,  and  tinged 
with  brown. 

" Waubeno,"  said  Jasper,  "who  is  that?" 
Waubeno  came  to  the  entrance  of  the  cabin,  and  said  : 
"  The  white  Indian.     They  bring  good.     Speak  to  him.     It 
is  a  good  sign." 

"  They  ? "  said  Jasper.  "  I  never  knew  that  there  were 
white  Indians,  Waubeno.  Where  do  they  live  ?  Where  do  they 
come  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  Great  River.    They  come  and  go,  and  come  and 

(133) 


134:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

go,  and  they  are  unlike  other  Indians.  They  know  things  that 
other  Indians  do  not  know.  They  have  a  book  that  talks  to 
them.  It  came  from  heaven." 

Jasper  stepped  out  on  to  the  clearing,  and  "Waubeno  fol- 
lowed him.  The  white  Indian  awaited  their  approach. 

"  "Welcome,  stranger,"  said  Jasper.  "  "Where  are  you  jour- 
neying from  ?  " 

"From  the  Great  River  (Mississippi)  to  the  land  of  the 
lakes.  They  are  coming,  coming,  my  brothers  from  over  the 
sea,  as  the  prophet  said.  I  have  not  seen  you  here  before.  I 
am  glad  that  you  have  come." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  asked  Jasper. 

"  My  tribe  is  few,  and  they  wander.  They  wander  till  the 
brothers  come.  We  are  not  like  other  people  here,  though  all 
the  tribes  treat  us  well  and  give  us  food  and  shelter.  We  are 
wanderers.  We  have  lived  in  the  country  many  years,  and  we 
have  often  visited  Kaskaskia.  You  will  hear  of  us  there.  When 
the  French  came,  we  thought  they  were  brothers.  Then  the 
English  came,  and  we  felt  that  they  were  brothers.  The  white 
people  are  our  brothers." 

"  Come  in,"  said  Jasper,  "  and  breakfast  with  us.  You  are 
strange  to  me.  I  never  heard  of  you.  You  seem  like  a  visitant 
from  another  world.  Tell  me,  my  brother,  how  came  you  to  be 
white?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  stranger,  but  I  ask  you  the  same  ques- 
tion, How  came  you  to  be  white  ?  The  same  Power  that  made 
your  face  like  the  cloud  and  the  snow,  made  mine  the  same. 
There  is  kindred  blood  in  our  veins,  but  I  know  not  how  it  is 
— we  do  not  know.  Our  ancestors  had  a  book  that  told  us  of 


THE  WHITE  INDIAN  OF  CHICAGO.  135 

God,  but  it  was  lost  when  the  French  raised  the  cross  at  Kas- 
kaskia.  We  had  a  legend  of  the  cross,  and  of  armies  marching 
under  the  cross,  and  when  the  bell  began  to  ring  over  the 
praise  house  there,  we  found  that  we,  too,  had  ancient  tales  of 
the  bell.  More  I  can  not  tell.  All  the  tribes  welcome  us,  and 
we  belong  to  all  the  tribes,  and  we  have  wandered  for  years  and 
years.  Our  fathers  wandered." 

"  This  is  all  very  strange,"  said  Jasper.    "  Tell  us  more." 

"  I  expected  your  coming,"  said  the  white  Indian.  "  I  was 
not  surprised  to  see  you  here.  I  expected  you.  I  knew  it. 
There  are  more  white  brothers  to  come — many.  Let  me  tell 
you  about  it  all. 

"  We  had  a  prophet  once.  He  said  that  we  came  from  over 
the  sea,  and  that  we  would  never  return,  but  that  we  must 
wander  and  wander,  and  that  one  day  our  white  brothers  would 
come  from  over  the  sea  to  us.  They  are  coming ;  their  white 
wagons  are  crossing  the  plains.  Every  day  they  are  coming.  I 
love  to  see  them  come  and  pass.  The  prophet  spoke  true. 

"  The  French  say  that  we  came  from  a  far-away  laud  called 
Wales.  The  French  say  that  a  voyager,  whose  name  was 
Modoc,  set  sail  for  the  West  eight  hundred  years  ago,  and  was 
never  heard  of  again  in  his  own  land ;  that  his  ships  drifted 
West,  and  brought  our  fathers  here.  That  is  what  the  French 
say.  I  do  not  know,  but  I  think  that  you  and  I  are  brothers. 
I  feel  it  in  my  heart.  You  have  treated  me  like  a  brother,  and 
I  kiss  you  in  my  heart.  I  love  the  English.  They  are  my 
friends.  I  am  going  to  Maiden.  There  will  be  more  white 
faces  here  when  I  come  again." 

He  took  breakfast  in  the  cabin,  and  went  away.  Jasper 
10 


136  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

hardly  comprehended  the  visit.  He  sought  the  Indian  agent, 
and  described  to  him  the  appearance  of  the  wandering  stranger, 
and  related  the  story  that  the  man  had  told. 

"  There  are  white  crows,  white  blackbirds,  white  squirrels, 
and  white  Indians,"  said  the  agent,  "  strange  as  it  may  seem. 
I  know  nothing  about  the  origin  of  any  of  them — only  that  they 
do  exist.  Ever  since  the  French  and  Indians  came  to  the  lakes 
white  Indians  have  been  seen.  So  have  white  crows  and  black- 
birds. The  French  claim  that  these  white  Indians  are  of  Welsh 
origin,  and  are  the  descendants  of  a  body  of  mariners  who  were 
driven  to  our  shores  in  the  twelfth  century  by  some  accident  of 
navigation  or  of  weather.  If  so,  the  Welsh  are  the  second  dis- 
coverers of  America,  following  the  Northmen.  But  I  put  no 
faith  in  these  traditions.  I  only  know  that  from  time  to  time 
a  white-faced  Indian  is  seen  in  the  Mississippi  Valley.  There 
are  many  tales  and  traditions  of  them.  It  is  simply  a  mystery 
that  will  never  be  solved." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  think  of  the  white  Indian's  story  ?  " 

"  Simply  that  he  had  been  taught  by  the  French  romancers, 
and  that  he  believed  it  himself.  Black  faces  have  strangely 
appeared  among  white  peoples,  and  Nature  alone,  could  she 
speak,  could  explain  her  laws  in  these  cases.  The  Indians  have 
various  traditions  of  the  white  Indian's  appearance  in  the 
regions  about  Chicago  :  they  regard  him  as  a  medicine-man,  or 
a  prophet,  or  a  kind  of  good  ghost.  It  is  thought  to  be  good 
fortune  to  meet  him." 

"  Why  does  he  come  here  ?  "  said  Jasper. 

"  To  see  the  white  people.  He  believes  that  the  white 
people  are  his  kindred,  and  that  they  are  coming,  'coming,' 


THE  WHITE   INDIAN  OF  CHICAGO.  137 

and  one  day  that  they  will  flock  here  in  multitudes.  The 
French  have  told  him  this.  He  is  a  mythical  character. 
Somehow  he  has  white  blood  in  his  veins.  I  can  not  tell 
how.  The  Welsh  tradition  may  be  true,  but  it  is  hardly 
probable." 

Years  passed.  The  white  Indian  appeared  again.  The 
fort  had  become  a  town.  The  Indian  races  were  disappear- 
ing. He  saw  the  white  wagons  crossing  the  prairies,  and  the 
reluctant  Pottawattomies  making  their  way  toward  the  Great 
Eiver  and  the  lands  of  the  sunset.  He  went  away,  solitary  as 
when  he  came,  and  was  never  seen  again. 

Who  may  have  been  these  mysterious  persons  whose  white 
faces  for  generations  haunted  the  lakes  and  the  plains  ?  They 
appeared  at  Kaskaskia,  their  canoes  glided  mysteriously  along 
the  Mississippi,  and  they  were  often  seen  at  the  hunting-camps 
of  the  North.  They  sought  the  French  and  the  English  as 
soon  as  these  races  began  to  make  settlements,  and  they  seemed 
to  be  strangely  familiar  with  English  tones,  sounds,  and  words. 

Jasper  loved  to  look  out  from  his  cabin  on  the  blue  lake, 
and  to  dream  of  the  old  scenes  of  the  Prussian  war,  of  Korner, 
Von  Weber,  of  Pestalozzi,  and  his  friend  Froebel,  and  contrast 
them  with  the  rude  new  life  around  him.  The  past  was  there, 
but  the  future  was  here,  and  here  was  his  work  for  the  future. 
It  is  not  what  a  man  has  that  makes  him  happy,  but  what  he 
is;  not  his  present  state,  but  the  horizon  of  the  future  around 
him  that  imparts  glow  to  life,  and  Jasper  was  at  peace  with 
himself  in  the  sense  of  doing  his  duty.  Heaven  to  him  was 
bright  with  the  smile  of  God,  and  he  longed  no  more  for  the 
rose-gardens  of  Marienthal  or  the  castles  of  the  Ehine. 


138  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

The  appearance  of  the  white  Indian  filled  the  mind  of 
Waubeno  with  pride  and  hope. 

"  We  will  be  happy  now,"  he  said.  "  You  will  be  happy 
now ;  nothing  happens  to  them  who  see  the  white  Indian ;  all 
goes  well.  I  know  that  you  are  good  within,  else  he  would  not 
come ;  only  they  whose  beings  within  are  good  see  the  white 
Indian,  and  he  brings  bright  suns  and  moons  and  calumets  of 
peace,  and  so  the  days  go  on  forever.  I  now  know  that  you 
speak  true.  And  Waubeno  has  seen  him ;  he  will  do  well ;  he 
has  seen  the  white  crow  among  the  black  crows,  and  he  will  do 
well.  Happy  moons  await  Waubeno." 

The  lake  was  glorious  in  these  midsummer  days.  The 
prairie  roses  hung  from  the  old  trees  in  the  groves,  and  the 
air  rang  with  the  joyful  notes  of  the  lark  and  plover.  In- 
dians came  to  the  fort  and  went  away.  Pottawattomies  en- 
camped near  the  place  and  visited  the  agency,  and  white 
traders  occasionally  appeared  here  from  Maiden  and  Fort 
Wayne. 

But  these  were  uneventful  days  of  Fort  Dearborn.  The 
stories  of  Mrs.  John  Kinzie  are  among  the  most  interesting 
memories  of  these  days  of  general  silence  and  monotony.  The 
old  Kinzie  house  was  situated  where  is  now  the  junction  of 
Pine  and  Xorth  Water  Streets.  The  grounds  sloped  toward 
the  banks  of  the  river.  It  had  a  broad  piazza  looking  south, 
and  before  it  lay  a  green  lawn  shaded  by  Lombardy  poplars 
and  a  cottonwood  tree.  Across  the  river  rose  Fort  Dearborn, 
amid  groves  of  locust  trees,  the  national  flag  blooming,  as  it 
were,  above  it. 

The  cottonwood  tree  in  the  yard  was  planted  by  John  Kin- 


THE   WHITE  INDIAN  OF  CHICAGO.  139 

zie,  and  lived  until  Chicago  became  a  great  city,  in  Long  John 
Wentworth's  day. 

The  old  residents  of  Chicago  will  ever  recall  the  beauty  of 
the  outlook  from  the  south  piazza.  At  the  dull  period  of  the 
agency,  only  an  Indian  canoe,  perhaps  from  Mackinaw,  dis- 
turbed the  peace  of  the  river. 

It  was  on  this  piazza  that  on  a  June  morning  was  heard  the 
chorus  of  Moore's  Canadian  Boat  Song  on  the  Chicago  Eiver, 
and  here  General  Lewis  Cass  presently  appeared.  The  great 
men  of  the  New  West  often  gathered  here  after  that.  Here 
the  best  stories  of  the  lake  used  to  be  told  by  voyagers,  and 
Mark  Beaubien,  we  may  well  suppose,  often  played  his  violin. 

The  scene  of  the  lake  and  river  from  the  place  was  changed 
by  moonlight  into  romance. 

Amid  such  scenes  the  old  Chief  Shaubena  related  the 
legends  of  the  tribes,  and  Mrs.  Kinzie  the  thrilling  episodes 
of  the  massacre  of  1812.  Jasper,  we  may  imagine,  joined  the 
company,  with  the  beautiful  spiritual  tales  of  the  Ehine,  and 
Waubeno  added  his  delightful  wonder-tale  of  the  white  Indian, 
whose  feet  brought  good  fortune.  No  one  then  dreamed  that 
John  Kinzie's  home  stood  for  two  millions  of  people  who  would 
come  there  before  the  century  should  close,  or  that  the  cool 
cottonwood  tree  would  throw  its  shade  over  some  of  the  grand- 
est scenes  in  the  march  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET. 


ASPER  made  the  best  use  of  the  story-telling 
method  of  influence  in  his  school  in  the  little 
cabin  on  the  lake  near  Chicago  River.  He 
sought  to  impart  moral  ideas  by  the  old  Roman 
fables  and  German  folk-lore  stories.  He  often 
told  the  tale  of  the  poor  girl  who  went  out  for  a  few  drops  of 
water  for  her  dying  mother,  in  the  water  famine,  and  how 
her  dipper  was  changed  into  silver,  gold,  and  diamonds,  as  she 
shared  the  water  with  the  sufferers  on  her  return.  But 
neither  ^Esop  nor  fairy  lore  so  influenced  the  Indian  boys  as 
his  story  of  the  Indiana  boy  who  defended  the  turtles  and 
pitied  the  turtle  with  the  broken  shell. 

"  I  would  like  to  meet  him,"  said  Waubeno,  one  day  when 
the  story  had  been  told.  "  What  is  his  name,  Parable  ? 
What  do  you  call  him  by  ?  " 

"  Lincoln,"  said  Jasper,  "  Abraham  Lincoln." 
"  Where  does  he  live,  Parable?  " 
"  On  Pigeon  Creek,  in  Indiana." 
"  Is  the  place  far  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  far  away  by  water,  and  a  hard  journey  by  land. 
Pigeon  Creek  is  far  away,  near  the  Ohio  River ;  south,  Wau- 
beno — far  away  to  the  south." 

(140) 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET. 

"  Will  you  ever  go  there  again  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  hope  to  go  there  again,  and  to  take  you  along 
with  me,"  said  Jasper.  "I  have  planned  to  go  down  the 
Illinois  in  the  spring,  in  a  canoe,  to  the  Mississippi,  and  down 
the  Mississippi  to  the  Ohio,  and  visit  Kaskaskia,  and  thence 
along  the ,  Ohio  to  the  Wabash,  and  to  the  home  where  the 
boy  lives  who  defended  the  turtles.  It  will  be  a  long  journey, 
and  I  expect  to  stop  at  many  places,  and  preach  and  teach 
and  form  schools.  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  and  guide  my 
canoe.  All  these  rivers  are  beautiful  in  summer.  They  are 
shaded  by  trees,  and  run  through  prairies  of  flowers.  The 
waters  are  calm,  and  the  skies  are  bright,  and  the  birds  sing 
continually.  0  Waubeno,  this  is  a  beautiful  world  to  those 
who  use  it  rightly — a  beautiful,  beautiful  world ! " 

"  Me  will  go,"  said  Waubeno.  "  Me  would  see  that  boy.  I 
want  to  see  a  story  boy,  as  you  say." 

The  attempt  to  establish  an  Indian  school  on  the  Chicago 
was  not  wholly  successful.  The  pupils  did  not  remain  long 
enough  to  receive  the  intended  influence.  They  came  from 
encampments  that  were  never  stable.  The  Indian  village  was 
there  one  season,  and  gone  the  next.  The  Indians  who 
came  in  canoes  to  the  agency  soon  went  away  again.  Jasper, 
in  the  spring  of  1825,  resolved  to  carry  out  the  journey  that 
he  had  described  to  Waubeno,  and  with  the  first  warm  winds 
he  and  the  Indian  boy  set  out  for  Kaskaskia  by  the  way  of 
the  Illinois  to  the  Mississippi,  and  by  the  Mississippi  to  the 
Kaskaskia. 

It  was  a  long  journey.  Jasper  stopped  often  at  the  Indian 
encampments  and  the  new  settlements.  Waubeno  was  a  faith- 


142  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

ful  friend,  and  he  came  to  love  him  for  true-heartedness, 
sympathy,  and  native  worth  of  soul.  He  often  tried  to  teach 
him  by  stories,  but  as  often  as  he  said,  "  Now,  Waubeno,  we 
will  talk,"  he  would  say,  "  Tell  me  the  one  with  broken  shell " 
— meaning  the  story.  There  was  some  meaning  behind  this 
story  of  the  turtle  with  the  broken  shell  that  had  completely 
won  the  heart  of  Waubeno.  The  boy  Abraham  Lincoln  was 
his  hero.  Again  and  again,  after  he  had  listened  to  the  simple 
narrative,  he  asked : 

"  Is  the  story  boy  alive  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Waubeno." 

"  And  we  will  meet  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  That  is  good.  I  feel  for  him  here,"  and  he  would  lay  his 
hand  on  his  heart.  "  I  love  the  story  boy." 

They  traveled  slowly.  After  a  long  journey  down  the 
Illinois,  the  Mississippi  rolled  before  them  in  the  full  tides 
of  early  spring.  They  passed  St.  Louis,  and  one  late  April 
evening  found  them  before  the  once  royal  town  of  Kaskaskia. 

The  bell  was  ringing  as  they  landed,  the  bell  that  had  been 
cast  in  fair  Eochelle,  and  that  was  the  first  bell  to  ring  be- 
tween the  Alleghanies  and  the  Mississippi.  Most  of  the  black- 
robed  missionaries  were  gone,  as  had  the  high-born  French 
officers,  with  their  horses,  sabers,  and  banner-plumes,  who  once 
sought  treasure  and  fame  in  this  grand  town  of  the  Mississippi 
Valley.  The  Bourbon  lilies  had  fallen  from  old  Fort  Chartres 
a  generation  ago,  and  the  British  cross  had  come  down,  and 
to-day  all  the  houses,  new  and  old,  were  decked  with  the  stars 
and  stripes.  It  was  not  a  holiday.  What  did  it  mean  ? 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET.  143 

Jasper  and  "Waubeno  entered  the  old  French  town,  and 
gazed  at  the  brick  buildings,  the  antique  roofs,  the  high  dormer 
windows,  and  the  faded  houses  of  by-gone  priest  and  nun.  The 
tavern  was  covered  with  flags,  French  and  American,  as  were 
the  grand  house  of  William  Morrison  and  the  beautiful  Edgar 
mansion.  The  house  once  occupied  by  the  French  command- 
ant was  wrapped  in  the  national  colors.  It  had  been  the  first 
State  House  of  Illinois.  A  hundred  years  before — just  one 
hundred  years — Kaskaskia  Commons  had  received  its  grand 
name  from  his  most  Christian  Majesty  Louis  XV,  and  it 
then  seemed  likely  to  become  the  capital  of  the  French  mid- 
continent  empire  in  the  New  World.  The  Jesuits  flocked 
here,  zealous  for  the  conversion  of  the  Indian  races.  Here 
came  men  of  rank  and  military  glory,  and  Fort  Chartres  rose 
near  it,  grand  and  powerful  as  if  to  awe  the  world.  But 
there  was  a  foe  in  the  fort  of  the  French  heart,  and  the 
boundless  empire  faded,  and  the  old  French  town  went  to  the 
American  pioneer,  and  the  fort  became  a  ruin,  like  Louisburg 
at  Cape  Breton. 

As  Jasper  and  Waubeno  passed  along  the  broad  streets  they 
noticed  that  the  town  was  filled  with  country  people,  and  that 
there  were  Indians  among  them. 

One  of  these  Indians  approached  Waubeno,  and  said  : 

"  She — yonder — see — Mary  Panisciowa — daughter  of  the 
Great  Chief — Mary  Panisciowa." 

Waubeno  followed  with  his  eye  the  daughter  of  the  Chief 
of  the  Six  Nations.  He  went  forward  with  the  crowd  and 
came  to  the  house  that  she  was  making  her  home,  and  asked  to 
meet  her.  Jasper  had  followed  him. 


144:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

They  turned  aside  from  the  street,  which  was  full  of  excited 
people — excited  Jasper  knew  not  why.  The  door  of  the  house 
where  Mary  Panisciowa  was  visiting  stood  open,  and  they  were 
asked  to  enter. 

She  looked  a  queen,  yet  she  had  the  graces  of  the  English 
and  French  people.  She  was  a  most  accomplished  woman. 
She  spoke  both  English  and  French  readily,  her  education  hav- 
ing been  conducted  by  an  American  agent  to  whom  she  had 
been  commended  by  her  father. 

"  This  is  good  news,"  she  said. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Jasper.  "  Good  news  comes  from  God.  Yet 
all  events  are  news  from  heaven.  The  people  seem  greatly 
exercised.  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Lafayette,  the  great  Lafayette — have  you  not  heard  ? — the 
marquis — he  is  on  his  way  to  Kaskaskia,  and  that  is  why  I  am 
here.  My  father  fought  under  him,  and  the  general  sent  him 
a  letter  thanking  him  for  his  services  in  the  American  cause. 
It  was  written  forty  years  ago.  I  have  brought  it.  I  hope  to 
meet  him.  Would  you  like  to  see  it? — a  letter  from  the  great 
Lafayette." 

Mary  Panisciowa  took  from  her  bosom  a  faded  letter,  and 
said : 

"  My  father  fought  for  the  new  people,  and  I  have  taken  up 
their  religion  and  customs.  I  suppose  that  you  have  done  the 
same,"  she  said  to  Waubeno. 

"  No  ;  that  can  not  be,  for  me." 

"  Why  ?  I  supposed  that  you  were  a  Christian,  as  you  travel 
with  the  Tunker." 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET.  145 

"  Mary  Panisciowa  knows  how  my  father  died.  I  am  his 
son.  I  swore  to  be  true  to  his  name.  The  Tunker  says  that  I 
must  forswear  myself  to  become  a  Christian.  That  I  shall 
never  do.  I  respect  the  teachings  of  your  new  religion,  and 
I  love  the  Tunker  and  shall  always  be  true  to  him,  but  I 
shall  be  true  to  the  memory  of  my  father.  Mary  Paniscio- 
wa, think  how  he  died,  and  of  the  men  who  killed  him. 
They  claimed  to  be  Christians.  Think  of  that !  I  am  not 
a  Christian.  Mary  Panisciowa,  there  is  a  spot  that  burns 
in  my  heart.  I  do  not  dissemble.  I  do  not  deceive.  But 
that  fire  will  burn  there  till  I  have  kept  my  vow,  and  I  shall 
do  it." 

"  Waubeno,"  said  the  woman,  "  listen  to  better  counsels. 
Revenge  only  spreads  the  fires  of  evil.  Forgiveness  quenches 
them. — That  is  a  noble  letter,"  she  said  to  Jasper. 

"  Yes,  a  noble  letter,  and  the  marquis  is  an  apostle  of  hu- 
man liberty,  a  friend  of  all  men  everywhere.  What  brings  him 
here?" 

"  The  old  French  and  new  English  families.  His  visit  is 
unexpected.  The  people  can  not  receive  him  as  they  ought 
to,  but  he  is  to  dine  at  the  tavern,  and  there  are  to  be  two 
grand  receptions  at  the  great  houses,  one  at  Mr.  Edgar's.  I 
wish  I  could  see  him  and  show  him  this  letter.  I  shall  try. 
But  they  have  not  invited  me.  They  are  proud  people,  and 
they  will  not  invite  me ;  but  I  shall  try  to  see  him.  It  would 
be  the  happiest  hour  of  my  life  if  I  could  take  the  hand  of  the 
great  Lafayette." 

Mary  Panisciowa  was  thrilled  with  her  desire  to  meet  Gen- 
eral Lafayette. 


146  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Cannons  boomed,  drums  and  fifes  played,  and  all  the  people 
hurried  toward  the  landing.  The  marquis  came  in  the  steamer 
Natchez  from  St.  Louis.  When  Mary  Panisciowa  heard  the  old 
bell  ringing  she  knew  that  the  marquis  was  coming,  and  she 
hid  the  faded  old  letter  in  her  bosom  and  wept.  She  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  tavern,  who  asked  Lafayette  if  he  would 
meet  the  daughter  of  Panisciowa,  and  receive  a  message  from 
her. 

Just  at  night  she  looked  out  of  the  door,  and  saw  an  officer 
in  uniform  and  a  party  of  her  own  people  coming  toward  the 
house.  The  officer  appeared  before  the  door,  touched  his  head 
and  bowed,  and  said : 

"  Mary  Panisciowa,  I  am  told." 

"  My  father  was  Panisciowa." 

"  He  fought  under  General  Lafayette  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  fought  under  Lafayette,  and  I  have  a  letter  from 
the  general  here,  written  to  him  more  than  forty  years  ago. 
Will  you  read  it?" 

The  officer  took  the  letter,  read  it,  and  said  : 

"  You  should  meet  the  general." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir."  I  want  to  meet  him  ;  but  how  ? 
There  is  to  be  a  reception  at  the  Morrisons,  but  I  am  not  in- 
vited. The  Governor  is  to  be  there.  But  they  would  not  in- 
vite me." 

"  Come  to  the  reception  at  the  Morrisons.  I  will  be  re- 
sponsible. The  marquis  will  welcome  you.  He  is  a  gentleman. 
To  say  that  a  man  is  a  gentleman,  is  to  cover  all  right  conduct. 
Bring  your  letter,  and  he  will  receive  you.  I  will  speak  to 
Governor  Coles  about  you.  You  will  come  ?  " 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET. 

"  May  my  friend  Waubeno  come  with  me  ?  I  am  the 
daughter  of  a  chief,  and  he  is  the  son  of  a  warrior.  It  would 
be  befitting  that  we  should  come  together.  I  wish  that  he 
might  see  the  great  Lafayette." 

"  As  you  like,"  said  the  officer,  hurrying  away  with  uncov- 
ered head. 

Mary  Panisciowa  prepared  to  go  to  the  grand  reception. 
Early  in  the  evening  she  and  Waubeno,  followed  by  Jasper, 
came  up  to  the  Morrison  mansion,  where  a  kind  of  court  recep- 
tion was  to  be  held. 

The  streets  were  full  of  people.  The  houses  were  every- 
where illuminated,  and  people  were  hurrying  to  and  fro,  or 
listening  to  the  music  in  the  hall. 

Lafayette  was  now  nearly  threescore  and  ten  years  of  age, 
the  beloved  hero  of  France  and  America,  and  the  leader  of 
human  liberty  in  all  lands.  He  had  left  Havre  on  July  12th, 
1824,  and  had  arrived  in  New  York  on  the  15th  of  August. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  son,  George  Washington  Lafayette, 
and  his  private  secretary,  M.  Levasseur.  His  passage  through 
the  country  had  been  a  triumphal  procession,  under  continuous 
arches  of  flags,  evergreens,  and  flowers,  bearing  the  words, 
"  Welcome,  Lafayette."  Forty  years  had  passed  since  he  was 
last  in  America.  The  thirteen  States  had  become  twenty- 
four.  He  had  visited  Joseph  Bonaparte,  the  grave  of  Wash- 
ington, and  the  battle-field  of  Yorktown.  His  reception  in 
the  South  had  been  an  outpouring  of  hearts.  And  now  he 
had  turned  aside  from  the  great  Mississippi  to  see  Kaskaskia, 
the  romantic  town  of  the  vanished  French  empire  of  the  Miss- 
issippi. 


14:8  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Mary  and  Waubeno  waited  outside  of  the  door.  The 
Indian  woman  listened  for  a  time  to  the  gay  music,  and 
watched  the  bright  uniforms  as  they  passed  to  and  fro  under 
the  glittering  astrals.  At  last  an  American  officer  came  down 
the  steps,  lifted  his  hat,  and  said  to  the  two  Indians  and  to 
Jasper : 

"  Follow  me." 

Lafayette  had  already  received  the  public  men  of  the  place. 
Airy  music  arose,  and  the  officials  and  their  wives  and  guests 
were  going  through  the  form  of  the  old  court  minuet. 

The  music  of  Mozart's  Don  Giovanni  minuet  has  been 
heard  in  a  thousand  halls  of  state  and  at  the  festivals  of  many 
lands.  We  may  imagine  the  charm  that  such  music  had  here, 
in  this  oaken  room  of  the  forest  and  prairie.  At  the  head  of 
the  plumed  ladies  and  men  in  glittering  uniforms  stood  the 
Marquis  of  France,  whom  the  world  delighted  to  honor,  and  led 
the  stately  obeisances  to  the  picturesque  movement  of  the  music 
under  the  flags  and  astrals.  A  remnant  of  the  old  romantic 
French  families  were  there,  soldiers  of  the  Revolution,  the 
leaders  of  the  new  order  of  American  life,  Governor  Coles  and 
his  officers,  and  rich  traders  of  St.  Louis.  As  the  music  swayed 
these  stately  forms  backward  and  forward  with  the  fascinating 
poetry  of  motion  that  can  hardly  be  called  a  dance,  the  two  In- 
dian faces  caught  the  spirit  of  the  scene.  "Waubeno  had  never 
heard  the  music  of  the  minuet  before,  and  the  strains  entranced 
him  as  they  rose  and  fell. 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET.   149 


Allegretto. 


iHinttet  from  UJon  (Bnotmnni. 

BY  MOZART.    ARR.  BY  CARL  ERICH. 
Published  by  the  permission  of  Arthur  P.  Schmidt. 


11H 


& — '— fi— &— %-  -»-•-•-*—» 

m {• — • — |c — p — i — «-»-F — • 


Copyright,  1880,  by  Carl  Prflfer. 


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IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 


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LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET.  153 


F-=-F 


After  the  minuet,  Lafayette  and  Governor  Coles  received 
the  towns-people,  and  among  the  first  to  be  presented  to  the 
marquis  was  Mary  Panisciowa. 

She  bowed  modestly,  and  told  him  her  simple  tale.  The 
marquis  listened  at  first  with  courtly  interest,  then  with  pro- 
found emotion.  She  drew  from  her  bosom  the  letter  that  he 
had  written  to  her  father,  the  chief.  His  own  writing  brought 
before  him  the  scenes  of  almost  a  half-century  gone,  the 
struggle  for  liberty  in  the  new  land  to  which  he  had  given  his 
young  soul.  He  remembered  the  old  chief,  and  the  forest 
scenes  of  those  heroic  years ;  Washington,  and  the  generals  he 
had  loved,  most  of  whom  were  gone,  arose  again.  His  heart 
filled  with  emotion,  and  he  said : 

"Nothing  in  my  visit  here  has  affected  me  so  much  as 


154  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

this.  I  thank  you  for  seeking  me.  I  welcome  you  with  all 
my  heart.  Let  me  spend  as  much  time  as  I  may  in  your 
company.  Your  father  was  a  hero,  and  your  presence  fills 
my  heart  with  no  common  pleasure  and  delight.  Stay  with 
me." 

The  marquis  welcomed  Waubeno  cordially,  and  expressed 
his  pleasure  at  meeting  him  here.  At  the  romantic  festival  no 
people  were  more  warmly  met  than  the  chief's  daughter  and 
her  escort. 

"  The  French  have  always  been  true  to  the  Indians,"  said 
Waubeno,  on  leaving  the  general,  "  and  the  Indians  have  been 
as  true  to  the  French." 

"  Never  did  rulers  have  better  subjects,"  said  the  gen- 
eral. 

"  Never  did  subjects  have  better  rulers,"  said  Waubeno, 
almost  repeating  the  scene  of  Dick  Whittington,  thrice  Lord 
Mayor  of  London,  by  virtue  of  his  wonderful  cat,  to  King 
Henry. 

The  Indians  withdrew  amid  the  gay  strains  of  national 
music,  the  stately  minuet  haunting  Waubeno  and  ringing  in 
his  ears. 

He  tried  to  hum  the  rhythms  of  the  beautiful  air  of  the 
courts.  Jasper  saw  how  the  music  had  affected  him,  and  that 
he  was  happy  and  susceptible,  and  said  : 

"  Waubeno,  you  have  met  a  man  to-night  who  would  forget 
his  own  position  and  pleasure  to  do  honor  to  the  Indian 
girl." 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Yon  are  your  best  self  to-night — in  your  best  mood  ;  the 


LAFAYETTE  AT  KASKASKIA— THE  STATELY  MINUET.  155 

music  has  awakened  your  better  soul.  You  remember  your 
promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but,  Brother  Jasper — " 

"  What,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"  Lafayette  is  a  Frenchman,  and — a  gentleman.  The  In- 
dians and  French  do  not  spill  each  other's  blood.  Why  ?  " 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 
WAUBENO  AND  YOUNG  LINCOLN. 


leafy  afternoon  in  May,  Jasper  and  "Waubeno 
came  to  Aunt  Olive's,  at  Pigeon  Creek.    South- 
ern Indiana  is  a  glory  of  sunshine  and  flowers 
at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  their  journey  had 
been  a  very  pleasant  one. 
They  had  met  emigrants  on  the  Ohio,  and  had  seen  the 
white  sail  of  the  prairie  schooner  in  all  of  the  forest  ways. 

"  The  world  seems  moving  to  the  west,"  said  Jasper,  "  as  in 
the  white  Indian's  dream.  There  is  need  of  my  work  more 
and  more.  Every  child  that  I  can  teach  to  read  will  make  better 
this  new  empire  that  is  being  sifted  out  of  the  lands.  Every 
school  that  I  can  found  is  likely  to  become  a  college,  and  I  am 
glad  to  be  a  wanderer  in  the  wilderness  for  the  sake  of  my 
fellow-men." 

In  the  open  door,  under  the  leafing  vines,  stood  Aunt  In- 
diana, in  cap,  wig,  and  spectacles.  She  arched  her  elbow  over 
all  to  shade  her  eyes. 

"  The  old  Tunker,  as  I  live,  come  again,  and  brought  his 
Indian  boy  with  him  !  "  said  she.  "  Well,  you  are  welcome  to 
Pigeon  Creek.  You  left  a  sight  of  good  thoughts  here  when 
you  were  here  before.  You're  a  good  pitcher,  if  you  are  a  little 

(156) 


WAUBENO  AND  YOUNG  LINCOLN.  157 

cracked,  with  the  handle  all  one  side.     Come  in,  and  welcome. 
Take  a  chair  and  sit  down — 

'  'Tis  a  long  time  since  I  see  you. 
How  does  your  wife  and  children  do  ? ' 

as  the  poet  sings." 

"  I  am  well,  and  am  glad  to  be  toiling  for  the  bread  that 
does  not  fail  in  the  wilderness.  How  are  the  people  of 
Pigeon  Creek — how  are  my  good  friends  the  Lincolns  ?  " 

"  The  Linkens  ?  Well,  Tom  Linken  makes  out  to  hold  to- 
gether after  a  fashion — all  dreams  and  expectations.  'The 
thing  that  hath  been  is,'  the  Scriptur'  says,  and  Thomas  Lin- 
ken  is — just  as  he  always  was,  and  always  will  be  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter.  He's  got  to  the  p'int  after  which  there  is  no 
more  to  be  told,  long  ago.  The  life  of  such  as  he  repeats 
itself  over  and  over,  like  a  buzzin'  spinnin'-wheel.  And  Miss 
Linken,  she  is  as  patient  as  ever ;  'tis  her  mission  just  to  be 
patient  with  old  Tom." 

"  And  Abraham  ?  " 

"  That  boy  Abe — the  one  that  we  prophesied  about !  Well, 
elder,  I  do  hate  to  say,  'cause  it  makes  you  out  to  be  no 
prophet,  and  you  mean  well,  goin'  about  tryin'  to  get  a  little 
larnin'  into  the  skulls  of  the  people  in  this  new  country ;  but 
that  boy  promises  pretty  slim,  though  I  ain't  nothin'  to  say 
agin'  him.  In  the  first  place,  he's  grown  up  to  be  a  giant, 
all  legs  and  ears,  mouth  and  eyes.  Why,  he  is  the  tallest 
young  man  in  this  part  of  Indiana ! 

"  Then,  his  head's  off.  He  goes  about  readin'  books,  just 
as  he  did  when  you  were  here  last — this  book,  and  that  book, 
and  the  other  book ;  and  then  he  all  runs  to  talk,  which 


158  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

some  folks  takes  for  wisdom.  He  tells  stories  that  makes 
everybody  laugh,  and  he  seems  very  chipper  and  happy,  but 
they  do  say  that  he  has  melancholy  spells,  and  is  all  down  in 
the  mouth  at  times.  But  he's  good-hearted,  and  speaks  the 
truth,  and  helps  poor  folks,  and  there's  many  a  wuss  one  than 
Abraham  Linken  now.  They  didn't  invite  him  to  the  great 
weddin'  of  the  Grigsbys,  cos  he's  so  homely,  and  hadn't  any- 
thin'  to  wear  but  leather  breeches,  and  they  only  come 
down  a  little  below  his  knees.  Queer-lookin'  he'd  'a'  been  to 
a  weddin' ! 

"He  felt  orful  bad  at  not  bein'  invited,  and  made  some 
poetry  about  'em.  When  I  feel  poetic  I  talk  prose,  and  give 
people  as  good  as  they  send.  I  don't  write  no  poetry. 

"You  are  welcome  to  stay  here,  elder.  You  needn't  go 
to  the  Linkens'.  I  have  a  prophet's  chamber  in  my  house — 
though  you  ain't  a  prophet — and  you  can  always  sleep  there, 
and  your  Indian  boy  can  lay  down  in  the  kitchen ;  and  I  can 
cook,  elder — now  you  know  that — and  I  won't  ask  ye  to  cobble ; 
your  time  is  too  valuable  for  that." 

Jasper,  who  was  not  greatly  influenced  by  Aunt  Indiana's 
unfavorable  views  of  her  poor  neighbor,  went  to  see  Thomas 
Lincoln.  "Waubeno  went  with  him.  Here  the  young  Indian 
mst  with  a  hearty  greeting  from  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lincoln. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come  again,"  said  poor  Mrs. 
Lincoln  to  Jasper.  "  You  comforted  me  and  encouraged  me 
when  you  were  here  last.  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  Abe  has 
all  grown  up,  and  wants  to  make  a  new  start  in  life ;  and  I 
wish  to  see  him  started  right.  There's  so  much  in  gettin' 
started  right;  a  right  start  is  all  the  way,  sometimes.  We 


WAUBENO  AND  YOUNG  LINCOLN.  159 

don't  travel  twice  over  the  same  years.  I  want  you  to  talk 
with  him.  You  have  seen  this  world,  and  we  haven't,  but 
you  kind  o'  brought  the  world  to  us  when  you  were  here 
last.  Elder,  you  don't  know  how  much  good  you  are 
doin'." 

"  Where  is  Abraham  ?  "  asked  Jasper. 

"  He's  gone  to  the  store  for  the  evenin'.  He's  been  keep- 
in'  store  for  Jones,  in  Gentryville,  and  he  spends  his  evenin's 
there.  There  ain't  many  places  to  go  to  around  here,  and 
Abe  he's  turned  the  store  into  a  kind  of  debatin'  club.  He 
speaks  pieces  there.  There's  goin'  to  be  a  debate  there  to- 
night. He's  great  on  debatin'.  I  do  hope  you'll  go.  The 
subject  of  the  debate  to-night  is,  '  Which  has  the  greater 
cause  for  complaint,  the  negro  or  the  Indian  ?  ' ' 

"  I'm  goin'  over  to  the  store  to-night  myself,  elder,"  said 
Thomas  Lincoln.  "  You  must  go  along  with  me  and  hear 
Abraham  talk,  and  then  come  back  and  spend  the  night  here. 
The  old  woman  has  been  hopin'  that  you  would  come.  It 
pleased  her  mightily,  what  you  said  good  about  Abraham  when 
you  was  here  last.  She  sets  her  eyes  by  Abraham,  and  he  does 
by  her.  Abraham  and  I  don't  get  along  none  too  well.  The 
fact  is,  he  all  runs  to  books,  and  is  kind  o'  queer.  He  takes 
after  his  mother's  folks — they  all  had  houses  in  the  air,  and 
lived  in  'em.  Abe  might  make  somethin';  there's  somethin' 
in  him,  if  larnin'  don't  spile  him.  I  have  to  warn  him  against 
larnin'  all  the  time,  but  it  all  goes  agin  the  grain,  and  I  de- 
clare sometimes  I  do  get  all  out  of  patience,  and  clean  dis- 
couraged. Why,  elder,  he  even  takes  a  book  out  when  he  goes 
to  shuck  corn,  and  he  composes  poetry  on  the  wooden  shovel, 


160  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

and  planes  it  out  with  my  plane,  and  wears  the  shovel  all  up. 
There,  now, .look  there ! — could  you  stand  it?  " 

Thomas  Lincoln  took  up  a  large  wooden  fire-shovel,  and 
held  it  before  the  eyes  of  the  Tunker.  On  the  great  howl  of 
the  shovel  were  penned  some  lines  in  coal. 

"  What  does  that  read,  elder? — I  can't  tell.  I  ain't  got  no 
larnin'  to  spare.  What  does  it  read,  elder?" 

Jasper  scanned  the  writing  on  the  surface  of  the  back  of 
the  shovel.  The  writing  was  clear  and  plain.  Mrs.  Lincoln 
came  and  looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Writ  it  himself,  likely  as  not,"  said  she.  "  Abe  writes 
poetry;  he  can't  help  it  sometimes — it's  a  gift.  Head  it, 
elder." 

Jasper  read  slowly : 

" '  Time !  what  an  empty  vapor  'tis ! 
And  days,  how  swift  they  are ! 
Swift  as  an  arrow  speed  our  lives, 

Swift  as  the  shooting  star. 
The  present  moment — ' " 

"He  didn't  finish  it,  did  he,  elder?  I  think  it  is  real 
pooty — don't  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lincoln  turned  her  broad,  earnest  face  toward  the 
Tunker. 

"Real  pooty,  ain't  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jasper.  "  He'll  be  likely  to  do  some  great 
work  in  life,  and  leave  it  unfinished.  It  comes  to  me  so." 

"  Don't  say  so,  elder.  His  father  don't  praise  him  much, 
but  he's  real  good  to  me,  and  I  hope  no  evil  will  ever  happen 
to  him.  I  set  lots  of  store  by  Abe.  I  don't  know  any  differ- 


A  QUEER  PLACE  TO  WRITE  POETRY. 


WAUBENO  AND  YOUNG  LINCOLN. 

ence  between  him  and  my  own  son.  His  poor,  dead  mother, 
that  lies  out  there  all  alone  under  the  trees,  knows  that  I  have 
done  by  him  as  if  he  were  my  own.  You  know,  the  guardian 
angels  of  children  see  the  face  of  the  Father,  and  I  kind  o' 
think  that  she  is  his  guardian ;  and  if  she  is,  now,  I  hain't  any- 
thing to  reflect  upon." 

"  Only  you're  spilin'  him  • —  that's  all,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 
"  Some  women  are  so  good  that  they  are  not  good  for  anything, 
and  between  me  and  Sarah  and  his  poor,  dead  mother,  Abra- 
ham has  never  had  the  discipline  that  he  ought  to  have  had. 
But  Andrew  Crawford,  the  schoolmaster,  and  Josiah  Crawford, 
the  farmer,  did  their  duty  by  him.  Come,  elder,  let  us  go  up 
to  Jones's  store,  and  talk  politics  a  while.  Jones,  he's  a  Jack- 
son man.  He  sets  great  store  by  Abe,  and  thinks,  like  you  and 
Sarah,  that  the  boy  will  make  somethin'  some  day.  Well,  I 
hope  he  will — can't  tell." 

Mr.  Jones's  store  was  the  popular  resort  of  Gentryville. 
Says  one  of  the  old  pioneers,  Dougherty  :  "  Lincoln  drove  a  team, 
and  sold  goods  for  Jones.  Jones  told  me  that  Lincoln  read  all 
of  his  books,  and  I  remember  the  History  of  the  United  States 
as  one.  Jones  afterward  said  to  me  that  Lincoln  would  make 
a  great  man  one  of  these  days — had  said  so  long  before  to  other 
people,  and  so  as  fai  back  as  1828  and  1829." 

The  store  was  full  of  men  and  boys  when  Thomas  Lincoln 
and  Jasper  and  Waubeno  arrived.  Dennis  Hanks  was  there, 
and  the  Grigsbys.  Josiah  Crawford,  who  had  made  Abraham 
pull  fodder  for  three  days  for  allowing  a  book  that  he  had  lent 
him  to  get  wet  one  rainy  night,  was  seated  on  a  barrel.  His 
nose  was  very  long,  and  he  had  a  high  forehead,  and  wide  look 


162  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

across  the  forehead.  He  looked  very  wise  and  thought  himself 
a  Solomon. 

The  men  and  boys  all  seemed  to  be  glad  to  see  the  Tunker, 
and  they  greeted  Waubeno  kindly,  though  curiously,  and  plied 
him  with  civil  questions  about  Black  Hawk. 

There  was  to  be  a  debate  that  evening,  and  Mr.  Jones 
•  called  the  men  to  order,  and  each  one  mounted  a  barrel  and  lit 
his  pipe — or  all  except  Abraham  and  Waubeno,  who  did  not 
smoke,  but  who  stood  near  each  other,  almost  side  by  side. 

"  Abraham,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "  you'll  have  to  argue 
the  p'int  for  the  Indian  well  to-night,  or — there  he  is!" — 
pointing  to  Waubeno — "  he'll  answer  ye." 

The  debate  went  slowly  at  first,  then  grew  exciting.  When 
Abraham  Lincoln's  turn  came  to  speak,  all  the  store  grew  still. 
The  subject  of  the  debate  was,  as  Thomas  Lincoln  had  said  : 
"  Which  has  the  greater  cause  for  complaint,  the  Indian  or 
the  negro  ?  " 

Abraham  Lincoln  claimed  the  Indian  was  more  wronged 
than  the  negro,  and  his  homely  face  glowed  as  with  a  strange 
fire  as  he  pictured  the  red  man's  wrongs.  He  towered  above 
the  men  like  a  giant,  and  moved  his  arms  as  though  they 
possessed  some  invisible  power. 

Waubeno  fixed  his  eyes  on  him,  and  felt  the  force  and 
thrust  of  his  every  word. 

"  If  I  were  a  negro,"  said  Lincoln,  "  I  would  hope  that 
some  redeemer  and  deliverer  would  arise,  like  Moses  of  old. 
But  if  I  were  an  Indian,  what  would  I  have  to  hope  for,  if  I 
fell  under  the  avarice  of  the  white  man  ?  Let  the  past  answer 
that." 


WAUBENO  AND   YOUNG  LINCOLN. 

"  Let  the  heavens  answer  that,"  said  Waubeno,  "  or  let 
their  gates  be  ever  closed." 

Thomas  Lincoln  started. 

"  Waubeno,  you  have  come  from  Black  Hawk.  He  slays 
men,  and  we  know  him.  An  Indian  killed  my  father." 

"  An  Indian  killed  your  father — and  what  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  My  brother  Mordecai  avenged  his  death,  and  caused  many 
Indians  to  bite  the  dust." 

"  White  brother,"  said  Waubeno,  "  a  white  man  killed  my 
father.  What  ought  /  to  do  ?  " 

The  men  held  their  pipes  in  silence. 

"  My  father  was  an  innocent  man,"  said  the  pioneer. 

"  My  father  was  an  honorable  warrior,"  said  Waubeno,  "  and 
defended  his  own  rights — rights  as  dear  to  him  as  your  father's, 
or  your's,  or  mine.  W'h'at  ought  I  to  do  ? "  He  turned  to 
young  Lincoln.  "  What  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  hold  that  in  all  things  right  is  might,  and  I  defend  the 
right  of  an  Indian  as  I  would  the  rights  of  a  white  man,  but 
I  never  would  shed  any  man's  blood  for  avarice  or  malice. 
Waubeno,  I  would  defend  you  in  a  cause  of  right  against  the 
world.  I  would  rather  have  the  approval  of  Heaven  than  the 
praise  of  all  mankind." 

"  Brother,"  said  Waubeno,  "  I  believe  that  you  speak  true? 
but  I  do  not  know.  If  I  only  knew  that  you  spoke  true,  I 
would  not  do  as  Mordecai  did.  I  would  forgive  the  white 
man." 

The  candles  smoked,  and  the  men  talked  long  into  the 
night.  At  last  Thomas  Lincoln  and  Jasper  and  Waubeno 
went  home,  where  Mrs.  Lincoln  was  awaiting  them.  They 


164:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD   OF  LINCOLN. 

expected  Abraham  to  follow  them.  They  sat  up  that  night 
late,  and  talked  about  the  prairie  country,  and  the  prospects 
of  the  emigrants  to  Illinois. 

"  Now  you  had  better  go  to  rest,v  said  Sarah  Lincoln.  "  I 
will  sit  up  until  Abe  comes.  I  do  not  see  why  he  is  so  late 
to-night,  when  the  Tunker  is  here,  too,  and  the  Indian  boy." 

"  He's  with  the  Grigsbys,  I  guess,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 

The  two  men  went  to  their  beds,  and  Waubeno  laid  down 
on  a  mat  on  the  floor.  Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  Mrs.  Lin- 
coln went  again  and  again  to  the  door  and  listened,  but  Abra- 
ham did  not  return.  It  was  midnight  when  she  laid  down,  but 
even  then  it  was  to  listen,  and  not  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning  Abraham  returned.  His  eyes  were  sunken 
and  his  cheeks  were  white. 

"  Get  me  some  coffee,  mother,"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  slept 
a  wink  to-night." 

"  Why,  where  have  you  been,  Abraham  ?  " 

"  Watchin' — watchin'  with  a  frozen  drunken  man.  I  found 
him  on  the  road,  and  carried  him  to  Dennis's  on  my  back. 
He  seemed  to  be  dead,  but  I  rubbed  him  all  night  long,  and 
he  breathed  again." 

"  Why  did  you  not  get  some  one  to  help  you  ?  " 

"  The  boys  all  left  me.  They  said  that  old  Holmes  was  not 
worth  revivin',  even  if  he  had  any  life  left  in  him  ;  that  it 
would  be  better  for  himself  and  everybody  if  he  were  left  to 
perish." 

"  Holmes !  Did  you  carry  that  man  on  your  back,  Abra- 
ham?" 

"  Yes.     I  could  not  leave  him  by  the  road.     He  is  a  human 


WAUBENO  AND   YOUNG  LINCOLN.  165 

being,  and  I  did  by  him  as  I  would  have  him  do  by  me  if  I 
lost  my  moral  senses.  They  told  me  to  leave  him  to  his  fate, 
but  I  couldn't,  mother.  I  couldn't." 

Waubeno  gazed  on  the  young  giant  as  he  drank  his  coffee, 
and  sank  into  a  deep  slumber  on  a  mat  in  the  room.  He 
watched  him  as  he  slept. 

When  he  woke,  Jasper  said  to  him  : 

"  Abraham,  I  wish  you  to  know  this  Indian  boy.  I  think 
there  is  a  native  nobility  in  him.  Do  you  remember  Johnnie 
Kongapod's  story,  at  which  the  people  all  used  to  laugh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  elder." 

"Abraham  Lincoln,  I  can  believe  that  story  was  true.  I 
have  faith  in  men.  You  do.  Your  faith  will  make  you  great." 


CHAPTEE  XV. 
THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL. 

HEEE  were  some  queer  people  in  every  town 
and  community  of  the  new  West,  and  these 
were  usually  active  at  the  winter  debating 
school.  These  schools  of  the  people  for  the 
discussion  of  life,  politics,  literature,  were,  on 
the  whole,  excellent  influences ;  they  developed  what  was  origi- 
nal in  the  thought  and  character  of  a  place,  and  stimulated 
reading  and  study.  If  a  man  was  a  theorist,  he  could  here 
find  a  voice  for  his  opinions ;  and  if  he  were  a  genius,  he  could 
here  uncage  his  gifts  and  find  recognition.  Nearly  all  of  the 
early  clergymen,  lawyers,  congressmen,  and  leaders  of  the  peo- 
ple of  early  Indiana  and  Illinois  were  somehow  developed  and 
educated  in  these  so-called  debating  schools. 

Among  the  odd  people  sure  to  be  found  in  such  rural 
assemblies  were  the  man  with  visionary  schemes  for  railroads, 
canals,  and  internal  improvements,  the  sanguine  inventor,  the 
noisy  free-thinker,  the  benevolent  Tunker,  the  man  who  could 
preach  without  notes  by  "direct  inspiration,"  the  man  who 
thought  that  the  world  was  about  to  come  to  an  end,  and  the 
patriot  who  pictured  the  American  eagle  as  a  bird  of  fate  and 
divinity.  The  early  pioneer  preacher  learned  to  talk  in  public 

(166) 


THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL.  167 

in  the  debating  school.  The  young  lawyer  here  made  his  first 
pleas. 

The  frequent  debates  in  Jones's  store  led  to  the  formation 
of  a  debating  school  in  Gentryville  and  Pigeon  Creek.  In 
this  society  young  Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  leader,  and  his 
cousin  Dennis  Hanks  and  his  uncle  John  were  prominent  dis- 
putants. The  story-telling  blacksmith  furnished  much  of  the 
humor,  and  Josiah  Crawford,  or  "  Blue-Nose  Crawford,"  as  he 
was  called,  was  regarded  as  the  man  of  hard  sense  on  such 
occasions  as  require  a  Solomon,  or  a  Daniel,  or  a  Portia,  and 
he  was  very  proud  to  be  so  regarded. 

There  was  a  revival  of  interest  in  the  cause  of  temperance 
in  the  country  at  this  time,  and  the  noble  conduct  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  in  carrying  to  his  cousin  Dennis's  the  poor  drunkard 
whom  he  had  found  in  the  highway  on  the  chilly  night  after 
the  debate  at  Jones's  store,  may  have  led  to  a  plan  for  a  great 
debate  on  the  subject  of  the  pledge,  which  was  appointed  to 
take  place  in  the  log  school-house  at  Pigeon  Creek.  The  plan 
was  no  more  than  spoken  of  at  the  store  than  it  began  to 
excite  general  attention. 

"  "We  must  debate  this  subject  of  the  temperance  pledge,*' 
said  Thomas  Lincoln,  "  and  get  the  public  sense.  New  times 
are  at  hand.  On  general  principles,  I'm  a  temperance  man ; 
and  if  nobody  drank  once,  then  nobody  would  drink  twice,  and 
the  world  would  all  go  dry.  But  there's  the  corn-huskin's,  and 
the  hoe-down,  and  the  mowin'  times,  and  the  hog-killin's,  and 
the  barn-raisin's.  It  is  only  natural  that  men  should  wet  their 
whistles  at  such  times  as  these.  In  the  old  Scriptur'  times 
people  who  wanted  to  get  great  spiritual  power  abstained  from 
12 


168  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

strong  drink;  but  you  can't  expect  no  such  people  as  those 
down  here  at  Pigeon  Creek." 

"  But  Abe  is  a  teinperancer,  and  I  want  the  debate  to  come  off 
in  good  shape,  so  that  all  you  uns  can  hear  what  he  has  to  say." 

It  was  decided  by  the  leading  debaters  that  the  subject  for 
the  debate  should  be,  "  Ought  temperance  people  to  sign  the 
temperance  pledge  ?  "  and  that  Abraham  Lincoln  should  sus- 
tain the  affirmative  view  of  the  question. 

The  success  of  young  Lincoln  as  a  debater  had  greatly 
troubled  Aunt  Indiana. 

"  It's  all  like  the  rattlin'  of  a  pea-pod  in  the  blasts  o' 
ortum,"  she  said.  "  It  don't  signify  anything.  He  just  rains 
words  upon  ye,  and  makes  ye  laugh,  and  the  first  thing  ye 
know  he's  got  ye.  Beware — beware !  his  words  are  just  like 
stool-pigeons,  what  brings  you  down  to  get  shot.  It's  amazin' 
what  a  curi'us  gift  of  talk  that  boy  has  !  " 

"When  she  heard  of  the  plan  of  the  debate,  and  the  part 
assigned  to  young  Lincoln,  she  said  : 

"  'Twill  be  a  great  night  for  Abe,  unless  I  hinder  it.  I'm 
agin  the  temperance  pledge.  Stands  to  reason  that  a  man's 
no  right  to  sign  away  his  liberty.  And  I'm  agin  Abe  Linkern, 
because  he's  too  smart  for  anythin',  and  lives  up  in  the  air 
like  a  kite ;  and  outthinks  other  people,  because  he  sits  round 
readin'  and  turkey-dreamin'  when  he  ought  to  be  at  work.  I 
shall  work  agin  him." 

And  she  did.  She  first  consulted  upon  the  subject  with 
Josiah  Crawford — "the  Esquire,"  as  she  called  him — and  he 
promised  to  give  the  negative  of  the  question  all  the  weight  of 
his  ability. 


THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL.  169 

There  was  a  young  man  in  G entry ville  named  John  Short, 
who  thought  that  he  had  had  a  call  to  preach,  and  who  often 
came  to  Aunt  Indiana  for  theological  instruction. 

"  Don't  run  round  the  fields  readin'  books,  like  Abraham 
Linkern,"  she  warned  him.  "  He'll  never  amount  to  a  hill  o' 
beans.  The  true  way  to  become  a  preacher  is  to  go  into  the 
desk,  and  open  the  Bible,  and  put  yer  fingers  on  the  first 
passage  that  you  come  to,  and  then  open  yer  mouth,  and  the 
Lord  will  fill  it.  I  do  not  believe  in  edicated  ministers. 
They  trust  in  chariots  and  horses.  Go  right  from  the  plow 
to  the  pulpit,  and  the  heavens  will  help  ye." 

John  Short  thought  Aunt  Indiana's  advice  sound,  and  he 
resolved  to  follow  it.  He  once  made  an  appointment  to  preach 
after  this  unprepared  manner  in  the  school-house.  He  could 
not  read  very  well.  He  had  once  read  at  school,  "And  he 
smote  the  Hittite  that  he  died  "  "  And  he  smote  the  Hi-ti- 
ti-ty,  that  he  did,"  and  he  opened  the  Bible  at  random  for  a 
Scripture  lesson  on  this  trying  occasion.  His  eye  fell  upon 
the  hard  chapters  in  Chronicles  beginning  "Adam,  Sheth, 
Enoch."  He  succeeded  very  well  in  the  reading  until  he  came 
to  the  generations  of  Japheth  and  the  sons  of  Gomer,  which 
were  mountains  too  difficult  to  pass.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and 
said,  "  And  so  it  goes  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  without 
regard  to  particulars." 

"  That  chapter  was  given  me  to  try  me,"  he  said,  as  a  kind 
of  commentary,  "and,  my  friends,  I  have  been  equal  to  it. 
And  now  you  shall  hear  me  preach,  and  after  that  we'll  take 
up  a  contribution  for  the  new  meetin'-house." 

The  sermon  was  a  short  one,  and  began  amid  much  mental 


170  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

confusion.  "  A  certain  man,"  he  began,  "  went  down  from 
Jerusalem  to  Jericho  and  fell  among  thieves ;  and  the  thieves 
sprang  up  and  choked  him ;  and  he  said,  '  Who  is  my  neigh- 
bor ? '  You  all  know  who  your  neighbors  are,  0  my  friends." 
Here  followed  a  long  pause.  He  added  : 

"  Always  be  good  to  your  neighbors.  And  now  we  will  pass 
around  the  contribution-box,  and  after  that  we'll  all  talk." 

This  beginning  of  his  work  as  a  speaker  did  not  look  prom- 
ising, but  he  had  conducted  "  a  meetin',"  and  that  fact  made 
John  Short  a  shining  light  in  Aunt  Indiana's  eyes.  To  this 
young  man  the  good  woman  went  for  a  champion  of  her  ideas 
in  the  great  debate. 

But,  notwithstanding  her  theory,  she  proceeded  to  instruct 
him  as  to  what  he  should  say  on  the  occasion. 

"  Say  to  'em,  John,  that  he  who  comes  to  ye  with  a  tem- 
perance pledge  insults  yer  character.  It  is  like  askin'  ye  to 
promise  not  to  become  a  jackass ;  and  what  would  ye  think  of 
a  man  who  would  ask  ye  to  sign  a  paper  like  that  ?  or  to  sign 
the  Ten  Commandments  ?  or  to  promise  that  ye'd  never  lie  any 
more  9  It's  one's  duty  to  maintain  one's  dignity  of  character, 
and,  John,  I  want  ye  to  open  yer  mouth  in  defense  of  the 
rights  of  liberty  on  the  occasion ;  and  do  yer  duty,  and  bring 
down  the  Philistine  with  a  pebble-stun,  and  'twill  be  a  glori- 
ous night  for  Pigeon  Creek." 

The  views  of  Aunt  Olive  Eastman  on  preaching  without 
preparation  and  on  temperance  were  common  at  this  time  in 
Indiana  and  Illinois.  By  not  understanding  a  special  direction 
of  our  Lord  to  his  disciples  as  to  what  they  should  do  in  times 
of  persecution,  many  of  the  pioneer  exhorters  used  to  speak  from 


THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL.  171 

the  text  on  which  their  eyes  first  rested  on  opening  the  Bible. 
They  seemed  to  think  that  this  mental  field  needed  no  planting 
or  culture — no  training  like  Paul's  in  the  desert  of  Arabia,  and 
that  the  pulpit  stood  outside  of  the  universal  law.  The  moral 
education  of  the  pledge  of  Father  Matthew  was  just  beginning 
to  excite  attention.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  thoughts  and 
plans  of  the  Irish  apostle  of  temperance  and  founder  of  the  Or- 
der of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  seemed  to  have  come  to  Abraham 
Lincoln  in  his  early  days  much  as  original  inspiration.  His 
first  public  speech  was  on  this  subject.  It  was  made  in  Spring- 
field, Illinois,  in  1842,  and  advocated  the  plan  which  Father 
Matthew  was  then  originating  in  Ireland,  the  education  of  the 
public  conscience  by  the  moral  force  of  the  temperance  pledge. 

It  was  a  lengthening  autumn  evening  when  the  debate  took 
place  in  the  school-house  in  the  timber.  The  full  moon  rose 
like  a  disk  of  gold  as  the  sun  sank  in  clouds  of  crimson  fire, 
and  the  light  of  the  day  became  a  mellowed  splendor  during 
half  of  the  night.  The  corn-fields  in  the  clearings  rose  like 
armies,  bearing  food  on  every  hand.  Flocks  of  birds  dark- 
ened the  sunset  air,  and  little  animals  of  the  woods  ran  to 
and  fro  amid  the  crisp  and  fallen  leaves.  The  air  was  vital 
with  the  coolness  that  brings  the  frost  and  causes  the  trees 
to  unclasp  their  countless  shells,  barks,  and  burrs,  and  let  the 
ripe  nuts  fall. 

The  school-room  filled  with  earnest  faces  early  in  the  even- 
ing. The  people  came  over  from  Gentryville,  among  them 
Mr.  Gentry  himself  and  Mr.  Jones  the  store-keeper.  Women 
brought  tallow  dips  for  lights,  and  curious  candlesticks  and 
snuffers. 


172  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Aunt  Indiana  and  Josiah  Crawford  came  together,  an 
imposing-looking  couple,  who  brought  with  them  the  air  of 
special  sense  and  wisdom.  Aunt  Indiana  wore  a  bonnet  of 
enormous  proportions,  which  distinguished  her  from  the  other 
women,  who  wore  hoods.  She  brought  in  her  hand  a  brass 
candlestick,  which  the  children  somehow  associated  with  the 
ancient  Scripture  figures,  and  which  looked  as  though  it  might 
have  belonged  to  the  temples  of  old.  She  was  tall  and  stately, 
and  the  low  room  was  too  short  for  her  soaring  bonnet,  but  she 
bent  her  head,  and  sat  down  near  Josiah  Crawford,  and  set  the 
candle  in  the  shining  candlestick,  and  cast  a  glance  of  con- 
scious superiority  over  the  motley  company. 

The  moderator  rapped  for  order  and  stated  the  question 
for  debate,  and  made  some  inspiring  remarks  about  "  parlia- 
mentary "  rules.  John  Short  opened  the  debate  with  a  plea 
for  independence  of  character,  and  self-respect  and  personal 
liberty. 

"  What  would  you  think,"  he  asked,  "  of  a  man  who  would 
come  to  you  in  the  night  and  ask  you  to  sign  a  paper  not  to  lie 
any  more?  What?  You  would  think  that  he  thought  you 
had  been  lying.  Would  you  sign  that  paper?  No!  You 
would  call  out  the  dogs  of  retribution,  and  take  down  your 
father's  sword,  and  you  would  uplift  your  foot  into  the  indig- 
nant air,  and  protect  your  family  name  and  honor.  Who 
would  be  called  a  liar,  in  a  cowardly  way  like  that  ?  And  who 
would  be  called  a  drunkard,  by  being  asked  to  sign  the  paper  of 
a  tee-totaler?  Who?" 

Here  John  Short  paused.     He  presently  said : 

"Hoo?" —  which  sounded  in  the  breathless  silence   like 


THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL.  173 

the  inquiries  of  an  owl.  But  his  ideas  had  all  taken  wings 
again  and  left  him,  as  on  the  occasion  when  he  attempted  to 
preach  without  notes  or  preparation. 

Aunt  Indiana  looked  distressed.  She  leaned  over  toward 
Josiah  Crawford,  and  said  : 

"  Say  somethin'." 

But  Josiah  hesitated.  Then,  to  the  great  amusement  of  all, 
Aunt  Indiana  rose  to  the  ceiling,  bent  her  generously  bonneted 
head,  stretched  forth  her  arm,  and  said : 

"  He  is  quite  right — quite  right,  Josiah.    Is  he  not,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Josiah. 

"  People  do  not  talk  about  what  is  continuous — what  goes 
right  along.  Am  I  not  right,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Quite  right !  quite  right ! " 

"  If  a  man  tells  me  he  is  honest,  he  is  not  honest.  If  he 
tells  me  that  he  is  pure,  he  isn't  pure.  If  he  were  honest  or 
pure  he  says  nothing  about  it.  Am  I  not  right,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Quite  right !  quite  right ! " 

"  Nobody  tells  about  his  stomach  unless  it  is  out  of  order ; 
and  no  one  puts  cotton  into  keyholes  unless  he  himself  is  peek- 
ing through  keyholes.  Am  I  not  right,  Josiah?" 

"  Quite  right !  quite  right !" 

"  And  no  one  asks  ye  to  sign  a  temperance  pledge  unless 
he's  been  a  drunkard  himself,  or  thinks  ye  are  one,  or  likely 
to  be.  Ain't  I  right,  Josiah  ?  " 

"  Quite  right ! " 

"  The  best  way  to  support  temperance  is  to  live  temperately 
and  say  nothin'  about  it.  There,  now !  If  I  had  held  my  peace, 
the  stones  would  have  cried  out.  Olive  Eastman  has  spoken, 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

and  Josiah  says  that  I  am  right,  and  I'm  agin  the  temperance 
pledge,  and  there's  nothin'  more  to  be  said  about  it." 

Aunt  Indiana  sat  down  amid  much  applause.  Then  Jasper 
rose,  and  showed  that  intemperance  was  a  great  evil,  and  that 
public  sentiment  should  be  educated  against  it. 

"  This  education  should  begin  in  childhood,"  he  said,  "  in 
habits  of  self-respect  and  self-restraint.  The  child  should  be 
first  instructed  to  say  "  No  "  to  himself." 

He  proceeded  to  argue  for  the  temperance  pledge  from  his 
point  of  view. 

"  The  world  is  educated  by  pledges,"  he  said.  "  The  patriot 
is  kept  in  his  line  of  march  by  the  pledge ;  the  business  man 
makes  a  pledge  when  he  signs  a  note ;  and  the  Christian  takes 
pledges  when  he  joins  the  Church.  We  should  be  willing  to 
take  any  pledge  that  will  make  life  better.  If  eating  meat 
cause  my  brother  to  stumble  and  offend,  then  I  will  not  eat 
meat.  I  will  sacrifice  myself  always  to  that  which  will  help  the 
world  and  honor  God.  I  am  sorry  to  differ  from  the  good 
woman  who  has  spoken,  but  I  am  for  the  use  of  the  pledge.  I 
never  drank  strong  drink,  and  this  hand  shall  sign  any  pledge 
that  will  help  a  poor  tempted  brother  by  my  example." 

Tall  Abraham  Lincoln  arose. 

"  There !  he's  goin'  to  speak — I  knew  he'd  been  preparin'," 
whispered  Aunt  Indiana  to  Josiah  Crawford.  "  Wonder  what 
he'll  have  to  say.  You'll  have  to  answer  him.  He's  just  a 
regular  Philistine,  and  goes  stalkin'  through  the  land,  and 
turns  people's  heads ;  and  he's  just  Tom  Linkern's  son,  who  is 
shiftless  and  poor,  and  I'm  goin'  agin  him." 

The  tall  young  man  stood  silent.     The  people  were  silent. 


THE  DEBATING  SCHOOL.  175 

Aunt  Indiana  gave  her  puncheon  seat  a  push  to  break  the 
force  of  that  silence,  and  whispered  to  Josiah : 

"  There !  they  are  all  ears.  I  told  ye  'twould  be  so.  You 
must  answer  him." 

Young  Lincoln  spoke  slowly,  and  after  this  manner : 

"  My  friends :  When  you  pledge  yourself  to  enforce  a  princi- 
ple, you  identify  yourself  with  that  principle,  and  give  it  power." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  the  people  filled  the  little  room 
with  applause.  He  continued  most  impressively  in  the  words 
of  grand  oration :  * 

"  The  universal  sense  of  mankind  on  any  subject  is  an 
argument,  or  at  least  an  influence,  not  easily  overcome.  The 
success  of  the  argument  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  an  over- 
ruling Providence  mainly  depends  upon  that  sense ;  and  men 
ought  not,  in  justice,  to  be  denounced  for  yielding  to  it  in  any 
case,  or  giving  it  up  slowly,  especially  when  they  are  backed  by 
interest,  fixed  habits,  or  burning  appetites. 

"  If  it  be  true  that  those  who  have  suffered  by  intemper- 
ance personally  and  have  reformed  are  the  most  powerful  and 
efficient  instruments  to  push  the  reformation  to  ultimate  suc- 
cess, it  does  not  follow  that  those  who  have  not  suffered  have 
no  part  left  them  to  perform.  Whether  or  not  the  world 
would  be  vastly  benefited  by  a  total  and  final  banishment 
from  it  of  all  intoxicating  drinks  seems  to  me  not  now  an 
open  question.  Three  fourths  of  mankind  confess  the  affirma- 
tive with  their  tongues ;  and,  I  believe,  all  the  rest  acknowl- 
edge it  in  their  hearts. 

*  We  use  here  some  of  the  exact  sentences  which  young  Lincoln  em- 
ployed on  a  similar  occasion  at  Springfield. 


176  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  But  it  is  said  by  some,  that  men  will  think  and  act  for 
themselves ;  that  none  will  disuse  spirits  or  anything  else  be- 
cause his  neighbors  do ;  and  that  moral  influence  is  not  that 
powerful  engine  contended  for.  Let  us  examine  this.  Let 
me  ask  the  man  who  could  maintain  this  position  most  stiffly, 
what  compensation  he  will  accept  to  go  to  church  some  Sunday 
and  sit  during  the  sermon  with  his  wife's  bonnet  upon  his 
head  ?  Not  a  trifle,  I'll  venture.  And  why  not  ?  There  would 
be  nothing  irreligious  in  it,  nothing  immoral,  nothing  uncom- 
fortable— then  why  not?  Is  it  not  because  there  would  be 
something  egregiously  unfashionable  in  it?  Then,  it  is  the 
influence  of  fashion.  And  what  is  the  influence  of  fashion  but 
the  influence  that  other  people's  actions  have  on  our  own 
actions — the  strong  inclination  each  of  us  feels  to  do  as  we 
see  all  our  neighbors  do?  Nor  is  the  influence  of  fashion 
confined  to  any  particular  thing  or  class  of  things.  It  is  just 
as  strong  on  one  subject  as  another.  Let  us  make  it  as  un- 
fashionable to  withhold  our  names  from  the  temperance  pledge 
as  for  husbands  to  wear  their  wives'  bonnets  to  church,  and 
instances  will  be  just  as  rare  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other." 

The  people  saw  the  moral  point  clearly.  They  felt  the  force 
of  what  the  young  orator  had  said.  No  one  was  willing  to  fol- 
low him. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say,  Mr.  Crawford  ?  "  said  the  mod- 
erator. 

Josiah  merely  shook  his  head. 

"  He  don't  care  to  put  on  his  wife's  bonnet  agin  public 
opinion,"  said  the  blacksmith. 


•    CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   SCHOOL   THAT   MADE   LINCOLN  PRESIDENT. 

HILE  teaching  and  preaching  in  Decatur,  Jas- 
per heard  of  the  new  village  of  Salem,  Illinois, 
on  the  Sangamon.  He  thought  that  the  little 
town  might  offer  him  a  chance  to  exert  a  new 
influence,  and  he  resolved  to  visit  it,  and  to 
preach  and  to  teach  there  for  a  time  should 
the  people  receive  him  kindly. 

The  village  was  a  small  one,  consisting  of  a  community 
store,  a  school-house,  a  tavern,  and  a  few  houses ;  and  Jasper 
knew  of  only  one  friend  there  at  the  time,  a  certain  Mr.  Dun- 
can, who  lived  some  two  miles  from  the  main  street  and  the 
store. 

One  afternoon,  after  a  long  journey  over  prairie  land,  Jas- 
per came  to  Mrs.  Duncan's  door,  and  was  met  cordially  by  the 
good  woman,  and  invited  by  her  to  make  his  home  there  for 
a  time. 

The  family  gathered  around  the  story-telling  missionary 
after  supper,  and  listened  to  his  tales  of  the  Khine,  all  of 
which  had  some  soul-lesson  in  his  view,  and  enabled  him  to 
preach  by  parables.  No  stories  better  served  this  peculiar 
mission  than  Baron  Fouque's,  and  this  night  he  related  Thi- 
odolf,  the  Icelander. 

(177) 


178  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

There  came  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"  Who  can  that  be  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Duncan  in  alarm. 

She  opened  the  door,  and  a  tall,  dark-faced  young  man 
stood  before  her. 

"  Why,  Abe,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan,  "  what  has  brought  you 
here  at  this  late  hour  ?  I  hope  that  nothing  has  happened  ! " 

"  That  bill  of  yours.  You  paid  me  two  dollars  and  six  cents, 
did  you  not?  It  was  not  right." 

"  Isn't  it  ?  Well,  I  paid  you  all  that  you  asked  me,  like  an 
honest  woman,  so  I  am  not  to  blame  for  any  mistake.  How 
much  more  do  you  want  ?  If  it  isn't  too  much  I'll  pay  it,  for 
I  think  that  you  mean  well." 

"  More  !  That  isn't  it,  Mrs.  Duncan ;  you  paid  me  six  cents 
too  much — you  overpaid  me.  It  was  my  fault." 

"  Your  fault !  — and  honest  Abe  Lincoln,  you  have  walked 
two  miles  out  of  your  way  to  pay  me  that  six  cents !  Why 
didn't  you  wait  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't." 

"  Why,  what  is  going  to  happen  ?  " 

"I  can't  sleep  with  a  thing  like  that  on  my  conscience. 
Now  I  feel  light  and  free  again." 

"  Come  in,  if  it  is  late.  We've  got  company — a  Tunker — 
teaches,  preaches,  and  works.  May  be  you  have  met  him  be- 
fore. He's  been  traveling  down  in  Indiana  and  middle 
Illinois." 

Abraham  came  in,  and  Jasper  rose  to  receive  him. 

"  Lincoln,"  said  the  wandering  school-master,  "  it  does  my 
heart  good  to  see  you.  I  see  that  you  have  grown  in  body  and 
in  soul.  What  brought  you  here  ?  I  have  been  telling  stories 


THE  SCHOOL  THAT  MADE  LINCOLN  PRESIDENT.    179 

for  hours.  Sit  down,  and  tell  us  about  what  has  happened  to 
you  since  we  met  last." 

The  tall  young  man  sat  down. 

"  He's  clark  down  to  Orf utt's  store  now,"  said  Mrs.  Duncan, 
"  and  his  word  is  as  good  as  gold,  and  his  weights  are  as  true  as 
the  scales  of  the  Judgment  Day.  Why,  one  day  he  made  a 
wrong  weight  of  half  a  pound,  and  as  soon  as  he  found  it  out 
he  shut  up  the  shop  and  went  shivering  through  the  village 
with  that  half-pound  of  tea  as  though  the  powers  of  the  air 
were  after  him.  He's  schooled  his  conscience  so  that  he 
couldn't  be  dishonest  if  he  were  to  try.  I  do  believe  a  dis- 
honorable act  would  wither  him  and  drive  him  crazy." 

"  Character,  which  is  the  habit  of  obedience  to  the  univer- 
sal law  of  right,  is  the  highest  school  of  life,"  said  Jasper. 
"  That  is  what  I  try  to  teach  everywhere.  But  Abraham 
has  heard  me  say  that  before.  Where  have  you  been  since 
I  saw  you  last?  Tell  me,  what  has  been  your  school  of 
life  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  New  Orleans  in  a  flat-boat.  I  went  for 
Mr.  Orfutt,  who  now  keeps  the  store  in  this  place.  When  I 
came  back  he  gave  me  a  place  in  his  store  here.  I  have  been 
here  ever  since." 

"  What  did  you  see  in  New  Orleans  ?  " 

"  Slavery — men  sold  in  the  market  like  cattle.  Jasper,  it 
made  me  long  to  have  power — to  control  men  and  congresses 
and  armies.  If  I  only  had  the  power,  I  would  strike  that 
institution  hard.  I  said  that  to  John  Hanks,  and  he  thought 
that  slavery  wasn't  in  any  danger  from  anything  that  I  would 
be  likely  to  do.  It  don't  look  so,  does  it,  elder?  I  have  one 


180  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

vote,  and  I  shall  always  cast  that  against  wrong  as  long  as  I 
live.  That  is  my  right  to  do. 

"  Elder,  listen.  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  saw  there  one 
day,  in  a  slave-pen.  I  saw  a  handsome  young  girl,  with  white 
blood  in  her,  brought  forward  by  a  slave-driver  and  handled 
and  struck  with  a  whip  like  a  horse.  I  had  heard  of  such 
things  before,  but  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  they  could  be 
true.  Then  I  saw  the  same  girl  sold  at  auction,  and  purchased 
by  a  man  who  carried  the  face  of  a  brute.  When  she  saw 
who  had  purchased  her,  she  wrung  her  hands  and  cried,  but 
she  was  helpless  and  hopeless ;  and  I  turned  my  face  toward  the 
sky  and  vowed  to  give  my  soul  against  a  system  like  that. 
I'm  a  Free-Soiler  in  my  heart,  and  I  have  faith  that  right 
is  might,  and  that  the  right  in  this  matter  will  one  day  pre- 
vail." 

Jasper  remained  with  Mrs.  Duncan  for  some  days,  and  then 
formed  a  small  school  in  the  neighborhood,  on  the  road  to  the 
town  of  Springfield,  Illinois. 

"While  teaching  here  he  could  not  but  notice  the  growth  of 
Orfutt's  clerk  in  the  confidence  of  all  the  people.  In  all  the 
games,  he  was  chosen  umpire  or  referee ;  in  most  cases  of 
dispute  he  was  consulted,  and  his  judgment  was  fpllowed. 
Long  before  he  became  a  lawyer,  people  were  accustomed  to 
say,  in  a  matter  of  casuistry : 

"  Take  the  case  to  Lincoln.  He  will  give  an  opinion  that 
will  be  fair." 

Amid  this  growing  reputation  for  character,  a  test  hap- 
pened which  showed  how  far  this  moral  education  and  disci- 
pline had  gone. 


THE  SCHOOL  THAT  MADE  LINCOLN  PRESIDENT.    181 

A  certain  Henry  McHenry,  a  popular  man,  had  planned  a 
horse-race,  and  applied  to  young  Lincoln  to  go  upon  the  racing 
stand  as  judge. 

"  The  people  have  confidence  in  you,"  he  said  to  Lincoln. 

"  I  must  not,  and  I  will  not  do  it,"  said  Lincoln.  "  This 
custom  of  racing  is  wrong." 

The  man  showed  him  that  he  was  under  a  certain  obligation 
to  act  as  judge  on  this  occasion. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  he  said ;  "  but  be  it  known  to  all  that  I  will 
never  appear  at  a  horse-race  again ;  and  were  I  to  become  a 
lawyer,  I  would  never  accept  a  case  into  which  I  could  not  take 
an  honest  conscience,  no  matter  what  the  inducements  might 
be." 

There  was  a  school-master  in  New  Salem  who  knew  more 
than  the  honest  clerk  had  been  able  to  learn.  This  man,  whose 
name  was  Graham,  could  teach  grammar. 

Abraham  went  to  him  one  day,  and  said : 

"  I  have  a  notion  to  study  grammar." 

"  If  you  ever  expect  to  enter  public  life,  you  should  do  so," 
said  Mr.  Graham.  "  Why  not  begin  now  and  recite  to  me  ?  " 

"  Where  shall  I  secure  a  book  ?  "  asked  the  student  of  this 
hard  college  of  the  wood. 

"  There  is  a  man  named  Vaner,  who  lives  six  miles  from 
here,  who  has  a  grammar  that  I  think  he  will  be  willing  to 
sell." 

"  If  it  be  possible,  I  will  secure  it,"  said  Lincoln. 

He  made  a  long  walk  and  purchased  the  book,  and  so  made 
a  grammar-school,  a  class  of  one,  of  his  leisure  moments  in 
Orfutt's  store. 


182  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

While  he  thus  was  studying  grammar,  the  men  whom  he 
thirty  or  more  years  afterward  made  Cabinet  ministers,  gen- 
erals, and  diplomats  were  enjoying  the  easy  experiences  of 
schools,  military  academies,  and  colleges.  Not  one  of  them 
ever  dreamed  of  such  an  experience  of  soul-building  and 
mind-building  as  this ;  and  some  of  them,  had  they  met  him 
then,  would  have  felt  that  they  could  not  have  invited  him 
to  their  homes.  Orfutt's  store  and  that  one  grammar  were 
not  the  elms  of  Yale,  or  the  campus  of  Harvard,  or  the  great 
libraries  or  bowery  streets  of  English  Oxford  or  Cambridge. 
Yet  here  grew  and  developed  a  soul  which  was  to  tower  above 
the  age,  and  hold  hands  with  the  master  spirits  not  only  of 
the  time  but  the  ages. 

Years  passed,  and  one  day  that  sad-faced  boy,  who  was 
always  seeking  to  make  others  cheerful  amid  the  clouds  of  his 
own  gloom,  stood  before  a  grim  council  of  war.  He  had  de- 
termined to  call  into  the  field  of  arms  five  hundred  thousand 
men. 

"  If  you  do  that  thing,"  said  a  leader  of  the  council,  "  you 
can  not  expect  to  be  elected  again  President  of  the  United 
States." 

The  dark  form  rose  to  the  height  of  a  giant  and  poured 
forth  his  soul,  and  he  said  : 

"  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  be  re-elected  President  of  the 
United  States,  but  it  is  necessary  for  the  soldiers  at  the  front  to 
be  re-enforced  by  five  hundred  thousand  men,  and  I  shall  call 
for  them  ;  and  if  I  go  down  under  the  act,  I  will  go  down  like 
the  Cumberland,  with  my  colors  flying." 

It  required  a  high  school  of  experience  to  train  a  soul  to 


THE  SCHOOL  THAT  MADE  LINCOLN  PRESIDENT.    183 

an  utterance  like  that ;  and  that  fateful  declaration  began  in 
those  moral  syllables  that  defended  the  rights  of  the  animals 
of  the  woods,  that  said  "  No  "  to  a  horse-race,  that  refused  from 
the  first  to  accept  an  unjust  case  at  law,  and  that  from  the 
first  declared  that  right  is  might. 


13 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES. 

AS  PER  taught  school  for  a  time  in  Boonesville, 
Indiana,  and  preached  in  the  new  settlements 
along  the  Wabash.  While  at  Boonesville, 
he  chanced  to  meet  young  Lincoln  at  the 
court  house,  under  circumstances  that  filled 
his  heart  with  pity. 

It  was  at  a  trial  for  murder  that  greatly  excited  the  people. 
The  lawyer  for  the  defense  was  John  Breckinridge,  a  man  of 
great  reputation  and  ability. 

Jasper  saw  young  Lincoln  among  the  people  who  had  come 
to  hear  the  great  lawyer's  plea,  and  said  to  him  : 

"  You  have  traveled  a  long  distance  to  be  here  to-day." 
"  Yes,"  said  the  tall  young  man.     "  There  is  nothing  that 
leads  one  to  seek  information  of  the  most  intelligent  people 
like  a  debating  society.     "We,  who  used  to  meet  to  discuss  ques- 
tions at  Jones's  store,  have  formed  a  debating  society,  and  I 
want  to  learn  all  I  can  of  law  for  the  sake  of  justice,  and  I 
owed  it  to  myself  and  the  society  not  to  let  this  great  occasion 
pass.     I  have  walked  fifteen  miles  to  be  here  to-day.     Did  you 
know  that  father  was  thinking  of  moving  to  Illinois  ?  " 
"  No.    Will  you  go  with  him  ?  " 

(184) 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  185 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go  with  him  and  see  him  well  settled,  and 
then  I  shall  strike  out  for  myself  in  the  world.  Father  hasn't 
the  faculty  that  mother  has.  you  know.  I  can  do  some  things 
better  than  he,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  one  member  of  the  family 
to  make  up  when  he  can  for  what  another  member  lacks. '  We 
all  have  our  own  gifts,  and  should  share  them  with  others.  I 
can  split  rails  faster  than  father  can,  and  do  better  work  at 
house-building  than  he,  and  I  am  going  with  him  and  do  for 
him  the  best  I  can  at  the  start.  I  shall  seek  first  for  a  roof  for 
him,  and  then  a  place  for  myself." 

The  great  lawyer  arrived.  The  doors  of  the  court-house 
were  open,  and  the  people  filled  the  court-room. 

The  plea  was  a  masterly  one,  eloquent  and  dramatic,  and  it 
thrilled  the  young  soul  of  Lincoln.  Full  of  the  subject,  the 
young  debater  sought  Mr.  Breckinridge  after  the  court  ad- 
journed, and  extended  his  long  arm  and  hand  to  him. 

The  orator  was  a  proud  man  of  an  aristocratic  family,  and 
thought  it  the  proper  thing  to  maintain  his  dignity  on  all 
occasions.  He  looked  at  the  boy  haughtily,  and  refused  to 
take  his  hand. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Lincoln.  "  I  wish  to  express  my 
gratitude." 

"  Sir ! " 

"With  a  contemptuous  look  Breckinridge  passed  by,  and  the 
slight  filled  the  heart  of  the  young  man  with  disappointment 
and  mortification.  The  two  met  again  in  Washington  in  1862. 
The  backwoods  boy  whose  hand  the  orator  had  refused  to  take 
had  become  President  of  the  United  States.  He  extended  his 
hand,  and  it  was  accepted. 


186  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  President,  "  that  plea  of  yours  in  Boones- 
ville,  Indiana,  was  one  of  the  best  that  I  ever  heard." 

"  In  Boonesville,  Indiana  ?  " 

How  like  a  dream  to  the  haughty  lawyer  the  recollection 
must  have  been!  Such  things  as  this  hurt  Lincoln  to  the 
quick.  He  was  so  low-spirited  at  times  in  his  early  manhood 
that  he  did  not  dare  to  carry  with  him  a  pocket-knife,  lest 
he  should  be  overcome  in  some  dark  and  evil  moment  to  end 
his  own  life.  There  were  times  when  his  tendencies  were  so 
alarming  that  he  had  to  be  watched  by  his  friends.  But 
these  dark  periods  were  followed  by  a  great  flow  of  spirits  and 
the  buoyancy  of  hope. 

In  the  spring  of  1830,  Jasper  and  "Waubeno  came  to  Gentry- 
ville,  and  there  met  James  Gentry,  the  leading  man  of  the 
place. 

"Are  the  Linkens  still  living  in  Spencer  County?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gentry,  "  but  it  has  been  a  hard  winter 
here,  and  they  are  about  to  move.  The  milk  sickness  has  been 
here  again  and  has  carried  off  the  cattle,  and  the  people  have 
become  discouraged,  and  look  upon  the  place  as  unhealthy.  I 
have  bought  Thomas  Linken's  property.  The  man  was  here 
this  morning.  You  will  find  him  getting  ready  to  go  away 
from  Indiana  for  good  and  all." 

"  Where  is  he  going  ?  "  asked  Jasper. 

"  Off  to  Illinois." 

"  So  I  thought,"  said  Jasper.  "  I  must  go  to  see  him. 
How  is  that  bright  boy  of  his  ?  " 

"Abe?" 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  187 

"  Yes.  I  like  that  boy.  I  am  drawn  toward  him.  There 
is  something  about  him  that  doesn't  belong  to  many  people 
— a  spiritual  graft  that  won't  bear  any  common  fruit.  I  can  see 
it  with  my  spiritual  eye,  in  the  open  vision,  as  it  were.  You 
don't  understand  those  things — I  see  you  don't.  I  must  see 
him.  There  are  not  many  like  him  in  soul,  if  he  is  ungainly 
in  body.  I  believe  that  he  is  born  to  some  higher  destiny  than 
other  men.  I  see  that  you  do  not  understand  me.  Time  will 
make  it  plain." 

"I'm  a  trader,  and  no  prophet,  and  I  don't  know  much 
about  such  matters  as  these.  But  Abe  Linken's,  he's  grown 
up  now,  and  up  it  is,  more  than  six  feet  tall.  He's  a  giant,  a 
great,  ungainly,  awkward,  clever,  honest  fellow,  full  of  jokes 
and  stories,  though  down  at  times,  and  he  wouldn't  do  a  wrong 
thing  if  it  were  for  his  right  hand,  and  couldn't  do  an  unkind 
one.  He  comes  up  to  the  store  here  often  and  tells  stories,  and 
sometimes  stays  until  almost  midnight,  just  as  he  used  to  do  at 
Jones's.  Everybody  likes  him  here,  and  we  shall  all  miss  him 
when  he  goes  away." 

Jasper  and  Waubeno  left  the  little  Indiana  town,  and  went 
toward  the  cabin  of  the  Lincolns.  On  the  way  Jasper  turned 
aside  to  pay  a  short  visit  to  Aunt  Olive. 

The  busy  woman  saw  the  preacher  from  her  door,  and  came 
out  to  welcome  him. 

"  I  knew  it  was  you,"  was  her  salutation,  "  and  I  am  right 
glad  that  you  have  come.  It  has  been  distressin'  times  in  these 
parts.  Folks  have  died,  and  cattle  have  died,  and  we're  all 
poor  enough  now,  ye  may  depend.  Where  are  ye  goin'  ?  " 

"  To  see  the  Lincolns." 


188  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  Sho' !  goin'  to  see  them  again.  Well,  ye 're  none  too 
soon.  They're  gettin'  ready  to  move  to  Illinois.  Thomas 
Linken's  always  movin.'  Moved  four  times  or  more  already, 
and  I  'magine  he'll  just  keep  movin'  till  he  moves  into  his 
grave,  and  stops  for  good.  He  just  lives  up  in  the  air,  that  man 
does.  He  always  is  imaginin'  that  it  rains  gold  in  the  next 
State  or  county,  but  it  never  rains  anythin'  but  rain  where  he 
is ;  and  if  it  rained  puddin'  and  sugar-cane,  his  dish  would  be 
bottom  upward,  sure.  Elder,  what  does  make  ye  take  such 
an  interest  in  that  there  family? " 

"  Mrs.  Lincoln  is  a  very  good  woman,  an  uncommon  one ; 
and  Abraham — " 

"  Yes,  elder,  I  knew  ye  were  goin'  to  say  somethin'  good 
of  Abraham.  Yer  heart  is  just  set  on  that  boy.  I  could  see 
it  when  ye  were  here.  I  remember  all  that  ye  prophesied 
about  him.  I  ain't  forgot  it.  Well,  I  am  a  very  plain-spoken 
woman.  Ye  ain't  much  of  a  prophet,  in  my  opinion.  He 
hain't  got  anywhere  yet — now,  has  he  ?  He's  just  a  great, 
tall,  black,  jokin'  boy ;  awful  lazy,  always  readin*  and  talkin' ; 
tellin'  stories  and  makin'  people  laugh,  with  his  own  mind 
as  blue  as  my  indigo-bag  behind  it  all.  That  is  just  what 
he  is,  elder,  and  he'll  never  amount  to  anythin'  in  this 
world  or  any  other.  It's  all  just  as  I  told  ye  it  would  be. 
There,  now,  elder,  that's  as  true  as  preachin',  and  the  plain 
facts  of  the  case.  You  wait  and  see.  Time  tells  the 
truth." 

"  His  opportunity  is  yet  to  come ;  and  when  it  does,  he  will 
have  the  heart  and  mind  to  fill  it,"  said  Jasper.  "  A  soul  that 
is  true  to  what  is  best  in  life,  becomes  a  power  among  men  at 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  189 

last — it  is  spiritual  gravitation.  'Tis  current  leads  the  river. 
You  do  not  see." 

"  No,  I  do  not  understand  any  such  things  as  those ;  but 
when  you've  been  over  to  see  the  Linkens,  you  come  back 
here,  and  I'll  make  ye  some  more  doughnuts.  Come  back, 
won't  ye,  and  bring  yer  Indian  boy  ?  I'm  a  plain  woman,  and 
live  all  alone,  and  I  do  love  to  hear  ye  talk.  It  gives  me  some- 
thin'  to  think  about  after  ye're  gone ;  and  there  ain't  many 
preachers  that  visit  these  parts." 

Jasper  moved  on  under  the  great  trees,  and  came  to  the 
simple  Lincoln  cabin. 

"  You  have  come  back,  elder,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln. 
"  Travelin'  with  your  Indian  boy  ?  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  though 
we  are  very  poor  now.  We're  goin'  to  move  away — we  and 
some  other  families.  "We're  all  off  to  Illinois.  You've  traveled 
over  that  kentry,  preacher  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  been  there." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  kentry  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  country,  Mr.  Lincoln.  It  can  produce 
grain  enough  to  feed  the  world.  The  earth  grows  gold.  It 
will  some  day  uplift  cities — it  will  be  rich  and  happy.  I  like 
the  prairie  country  well." 

"  There  !  let  me  tell  my  wife. — Mother,  here's  the  preacher. 
What  do  you  think  he  says  about  the  prairie  kentry  ?  Says  the 
earth  grows  gold." 

Poor  Mrs.  Lincoln  looked  sad  and  doubtful.  She  had 
heard  such  things  before.  But  she  welcomed  Jasper  heartily, 
and  the  three,  with  Waubeno,  sat  down  to  a  meal  of  plain 
Indian  pudding  and  milk,  and  talked  of  the  sorrowful  winter 


190  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

that  had  passed  and  the  prospects  of  a  better  life  amid  the 
flowery  prairies  of  Illinois. 

A  little  dog  played  around  them  while  they  were  thus  eat- 
ing and  talking. 

"  It  is  not  our  dog,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln,  u  but  he  has  taken 
a  great  liking  to  Abraham.  The  boy  is  away  now,  but  he  will 
be  back  by  sundown.  The  dog  belongs  to  one  of  the  family, 
and  is  always  restless  when  Abraham  has  gone  away.  Abraham 
wants  to  take  him  along  with  us,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  we've 
got  enough  mouths  to  feed  without  him.  We  are  all  so  poor ! 
and  I  don't  see  what  good  he  would  do.  But  if  Abraham  says 
so,  he  will  have  to  go." 

"  How  is  Abraham  ?  "  asked  Jasper. 

"  Oh,  he  is  well,  and  as  good  to  me  as  ever,  and  he  studies 
hard,  just  as  he  used  to  do." 

"  And  is  as  lazy  as  ever,"  said  Thomas  Lincoln.  "  At  the 
lazy  folks'  fair  he'd  take  the  premium." 

"  You  shouldn't  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln.  "  Just  think 
how  good  he  was  to  everybody  during  the  sickness !  He  never 
thought  of  himself,  but  just  worked  night  and  day.  His  own 
mother  died  of  the  same  sickness  years  ago,  and  he's  had  a 
feelin'  heart  for  the  sufferers  in  this  calamity.  I  tell  you,  elder, 
that  he's  good  to  everybody,  and  if  he  does  not  take  hold 
to  work  in  the  way  that  father  does,  his  head  and  heart  are 
never  idle.  I  am  sorry  that  he  and  father  do  not  see  more 
alike.  The  boy  is  goin'  to  do  well  in  the  world.  He  begins 
right." 

When  Abraham  returned,  there  was  one  heart  that  was 
indeed  glad  to  see  him.  It  was  the  little  dog.  The  animal 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  191 

bounded  heels  over  head  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  boy's  step,  and 
almost  leaped  upon  his  tall  shoulder  as  he  met  him. 

"  Humph ! "  said  Mr.  Lincoln. 

"  Animals  know  who  are  good  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Lincoln. 
"Abraham,  here  is  the  preacher." 

How  tall,  and  dark,  and  droll,  and  yet  how  sad,  the  boy 
looked !  He  was  full  grown  now,  uncouth  and  ungainly.  Who 
but  Jasper  would  have  seen  behind  the  features  of  that  young, 
sinewy  backwoodsman  the  soul  of  the  leader  and  liberator  ? 

It  was  a  busy  time  with  the  Lincolns.  Their  goods  were 
loaded  upon  a  rude  and  very  heavy  ox-wagon,  and  the  oxen 
were  given  into  the  charge  of  young  Abraham  to  drive. 

The  young  man's  voice  might  have  been  heard  a  mile  as  he 
swung  his  whip  and  called  out  to  the  oxen  on  starting.  They 
passed  by  the  grave  under  the  great  trees  where  his  poor 
mother's  body  lay.  and  left  it  there,  never  to  be  visited  again. 
There  were  some  thirteen  persons  in  the  emigrant  party. 

Emigrant  wagons  were  passing  toward  Illinois,  the  "  prairie 
country,"  as  it  was  called,  over  all  the  roads  of  Indiana.  The 
"  schooners,"  as  these  wagons  were  called,  were  everywhere  to 
be  seen  on  the  great  prairie  sea.  It  was  the  time  of  the  great 
emigration.  Jasper  had  never  dreamed  of  a  life  like  this  be- 
fore. He  looked  into  one  prairie  wagon,  whose  young  driver 
had  gone  for  water.  He  turned  to  Waubeno,  and  said  : 

"  What  do  you  think  I  saw  ?  " 

"  Guns  to  destroy  the  Indians ;  trinkets  and  trifles  to  cheat 
us  out  of  our  lands ;  whisky  for  tent-making." 

"  No,  Waubeno.  There  was  an  old  grandmother  there,  a 
sick  woman,  and  a  little  coffin.  This  is  a  sad  world  sometimes. 


192  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

I  pity  everybody,  and  I  would  that  all  men  were  brothers.  Go, 
look  into  the  wagon,  Waubeno." 

The  Indian  went,  and  soon  returned. 

"  Do  you  pity  them,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but—" 

"  What,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"  I  pity  the  Indian  mother  too.  Your  people  drove  her 
from  her  corn-fields  at  Eock  Island,  and  she  left  the  graves  of 
her  children  behind  her." 

There  was  a  shadow  of  sadness  in  the  hearts  of  the  Lincoln 
family  as  they  turned  away  forever  from  the  grave  of  Nancy 
Lincoln  under  the  trees.  The  poor  woman  who  rested  there  in 
the  spot  soon  to  be  obliterated,  little  thought  on  her  dying  bed 
that  the  little  boy  she  was  leaving  to  poverty  and  adventure 
would  be  one  day  ranked  with  great  men  of  the  ages — with  Ser- 
vius  Tullius,  Pericles,  Cincinnatus,  Cromwell,  Hampden,  Wash- 
ington, and  Bolivar ;  that  he  would  sit  in  the  seat  of  a  long  line 
of  illustrious  Presidents,  call  a  million  men  to  arms,  or  that 
his  rude  family  features  would  find  a  place  among  the  grand 
statues  of  every  liberated  country  on  earth. 

Poor  Nancy  Hanks !  Every  one  who  knew  her  had  felt 
the  warmth  of  her  kindness  and  marked  her  sadness.  She 
was  an  intellectual  woman,  was  deeply  religious,  and  is  believed 
to  have  been  a  very  emotional  character  in  the  old  Methodist 
camp-meetings.  Her  family,  the  Hankses,  were  among  the 
best  singers  and  loudest  shouters  at  the  camp-meetings,  and 
she  was  in  sympathy  with  them. 

Her  heart  lived  on  in  Abraham.  When  she  fell  sick  of  the 
epidemic  fever,  Abraham,  then  a  boy  of  ten  years  of  age,  waited 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  193 

upon  her  and  nursed  her.  There  was  no  doctor  within  twenty- 
five  miles.  She  was  so  slender,  and  had  been  so  ill-sustained 
that  the  fever-fires  did  their  work  in  a  week.  Finding  her  end 
near,  she  called  Abraham  and  his  little  sister  to  her,  and  said  : 

"  Be  good  to  one  another." 

Her  face  looked  into  Abraham's  for  the  last  time. 

"  Live,"  she  said,  "  as  I  have  taught  you.  Love  your  kin- 
dred, and  worship  God." 

She  faded  away,  and  her  husband  made  her  coffin  with  a 
whip-saw  out  of  green  wood,  and  on  a  changing  October  day 
they  laid  her  away  under  the  trees.  They  were  leaving  her 
grave  now,  the  humblest  of  all  places  then,  but  a  shrine  to-day, 
for  her  son's  character  has  glorified  it. 

He  must  have  always  remembered  the  hymns  that  she  used 
to  sing.  Some  of  them  were  curious  compositions.  In  the 
better  class  of  them  were  ;  "  Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  cross,"  "Alas  ! 
and  did  my  Saviour  bleed,"  and  "  How  tedious  and  tasteless 
the  hour."  The  camp-meeting  melodies  were  simple,  mere 
movements,  like  the  negro  songs. 

Abraham  swung  his  whip  lustily  over  the  oxen's  heads  on 
that  long  spring  journey,  and  directed  the  way.  The  wheels  of 
the  cart  were  great  rollers,  and  they  creaked  along.  Here  and 
there  the  roads  were  muddy,  but  the  sky  was  blue  above,  and 
the  buds  were  swelling,  and  the  birds  were  singing,  and  the 
little  dog  that  belonged  to  the  party  kept  close  to  his  heels,  and 
the  poor  people  journeyed  on  under  the  giant  timber,  and  out 
of  it  at  times  along  the  ocean-like  prairies  of  the  Illinois.  The 
world  was  before  them — an  expanse  of  forest  and  prairie  that  in 
fifty  years  were  to  be  changed  by  the  axe  and  plowshare  into 


194:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD   OF  LINCOLN. 

prosperous  farms  and  homesteads,  and  settled  by  the  restless 
nations  of  the  world. 

The  journey  was  long.  There  were  spells  of  wintry  weather, 
for  the  spring  advanced  by  degrees  even  here.  Streams  over- 
flowing their  banks  lay  across  their  way,  and  these  had  to  be 
forded. 

One  morning  the  party  came  to  a  stream  covered  with  thin 
ice.  The  oxen  and  horses  hesitated,  but  were  forced  into  the 
cold  water.  After  a  dreary  effort  the  hardy  pilgrims  passed 
over  and  mounted  the  western  bank.  A  sharp  cry  was  heard 
on  the  opposite  side. 

"  You  have  left  the  dog,  Abe,"  said  one.  "  Good  riddance 
to  him !  I  am  glad  that  we  are  quit  of  him  at  last." 

The  dog's  pitiable  cry  rang  out  on  the  crisp,  cool  air.  He 
was  barking  to  Abraham,  and  the  teamster's  heart  recognized 
that  the  animal's  call  was  to  him. 

"  See  him  run,  and  howl  !  "  said  another.  "  Whip  up,  Abe, 
and  we  will  soon  be  out  of  sight." 

Young  Lincoln  looked  behind.  The  little  animal  would  go 
down  to  the  water,  and  try  to  swim  across,  but  the  broken  ice 
drove  him  back.  Then  he  set  up  a  cry,  as  much  as  to  say : 

"  Abe,  Abe,  you  will  not  leave  me  ! " 

"  Drive  on,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  He'll  take  care  of  him- 
self. He'd  no  business  to  lag  behind.  What  do  we  want  of 
the  dog,  anyway  ?  " 

The  animal  cried  more  and  more  piteously  and  lustily. 

"  Whoa ! "  said  Lincoln. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Abe  ?  " 

"  To  do  as  I  would  be  done  by.     I  can't  stand  that." 


THOMAS  LINCOLN  MOVES.  195 

Lincoln  plunged  into  the  frozen  water  and  waded  across. 
The  dog,  overjoyed,  leaped  into  his  arms.  Lincoln  returned, 
having  borne  the  little  dog  in  his  arms  across  the  stream.  He 
was  cold  and  dripping,  and  was  censured  for  causing  a  needless 
delay.  But  he.  had  a  happy  face  and  heart. 

Referring  to  this  episode  of  the  journey  a  long  time  after- 
ward, Lincoln  said  to  a  friend : 

"  I  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  abandoning  even  a  dog. 
Pulling  off  shoes  and  socks,  I  waded  across  the  stream,  and 
triumphantly  returned  with  the  shivering  animal  under  my 
arms.  His  frantic  leaps  of  joy,  and  other  evidences  of  grati- 
tude, repaid  me  for  all  the  exposure  I  had  undergone." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 
MAIN-POGUE. 

ASPER  taught  for  a  time  near  New  Salem,  then 
made  again  his  usual  circuit,  after  which  he 
made  his  home  for  a  time  at  Springfield,  Illi- 
nois. "When  Jasper  was  returning  from  this 
last  circuit  of  his  self-appointed  mission  the 
Black  Hawk  war  had  begun  again.  He  came  one  day,  after 
long  wanderings,  to  Bushville,  in  Schuyler  County,  Illinois, 
and  found  the  place  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  The 
town  was  filling  with  armed  men,  and  among  them  were 
many  faces  that  he  had  seen  at  New  Salem,  when  Waubeno 
was  his  companion. 

He  recognized  a  Mr.  Green,  whom  he  had  known  in  Xew 
Salem,  and  said  to  him : 

"  My  friend,  what  does  this  armed  gathering  mean  ?  " 
"  Black  Hawk  has  crossed  the  Mississippi  and  is  making 
war  on  the  settlers.     The  Governor  has  called  for  volunteers  to 
defend  the  State." 

"What  has  led  to  this  new  outbreak?"   said  Jasper,  al- 
though few  knew  the  cause  better  than  he. 

"  Oh,  sentiment — Indian  sentiment.    Black  Hawk  wants  the 
old  Indian  town  on  the  bluff  again.     He  says  it  is  sacred  to  his 

(196) 


MAIN-POGUE.  197 

race ;  that  his  ancestors  are  buried  there,  and  that  there  is  no 
place  like  it  on  earth,  or  none  that  can  take  its  place  in  his  soul. 
He  claims  that  the  chiefs  had  been  made  drunk  by  the  white 
men  when  they  signed  the  treaty  that  gave  up  the  town;  that 
he  never  sold  his  fathers'  graves.  His  heart  is  full  of  revenge, 
and  he  and  all  his  tribe  cling  to  that  old  Sac  village  with  the 
grasp  of  death." 

"  The  trouble  has  been  gathering  long  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  settlers  came  up,  under  the  treaty,  to  occupy  the 
best  lands  around  the  Sac  town  and  compel  the  Indians  to 
live  west  of  the  Mississippi.  Then  the  Indians  and  settlers 
began  to  dispute  and  quarrel.  The  settlers  brought  whisky, 
and  Black  Hawk  demanded  that  it  should  not  be  sold  to  his 
people.  He  violently  entered  a  settler's  claim,  and  stove  in 
a  barrel  of  whisky  before  the  man's  eyes.  Then  the  Indians 
went  over  the  Mississippi  sullenly,  and  left  their  cabins  and 
corn-fields.  But  hard  weather  came,  and  the  women  would 
come  back  to  the  old  corn-fields,  which  they  had  planted  the 
year  before,  to  steal  corn.  They  said  that  the  corn  was  theirs, 
and  that  they  were  starving  for  their  own  food.  Some  of 
them  were  killed  by  the  settlers.  Black  Hawk  had  become 
enraged  again.  He  has  been  trying  to  get  the  Indian  tribes 
to  unite  and  kill  all  of  the  whites.  He  has  violated  the  old 
Indian  treaty,  and  is  murdering  people  on  every  hand,  and 
the  Governor  has  asked  for  volunteers  to  protect  the  lives 
and  property  of  the  settlers.  He  had  to  do  it.  Either  the 
whites  or  the  Indians  must  perish.  The  settlers  came  here 
under  a  legal  treaty;  they  must  be  protected.  It  is  no  time 
for  sentiment  now." 


193  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Are  nearly  all  of  the  men  of  New  Salem  here  ?  "  said 
Jasper. 

"  Yes ;  Abraham  Lincoln  was  the  first  to  enlist,  and  he  is 
our  leader.  He  ought  to  be  a  good  Indian  fighter.  His  grand- 
father was  killed  by  the  Indians." 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

"  But  Lincoln  himself  is  not  a  hard  man ;  there's  nothing 
revengeful  about  him.  He  would  be  more  likely  to  do  a  good 
act  to  an  Indian  than  a  harmful  one,  if  he  could.  His  pur- 
pose is  not  to  kill  Indians,  but  to  protect  the  State  and  save 
the  lives  of  peaceful,  inoffensive  people." 

The  men  from  the  several  towns  in  the  vicinity  gathered  in 
the  open  space,  and  proceeded  to  elect  their  officers. 

The  manner  of  the  election  was  curious.  There  were  the 
two  candidates  for  captain  of  the  company.  They  were  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  and  a  man  by  the  name  of  Fitzpatrick.  Each 
volunteer  was  asked  to  put  himself  in  the  line  by  the  side  of 
the  man  of  his  choice. 

One  by  one  they  stepped  forward  and  arranged  themselves 
by  the  side  of  Lincoln,  until  Lincoln  stood  at  the  head  of  a 
larger  part  of  the  men. 

"  Captain  Lincoln ! "  said  one,  when  he  saw  how  the  elec- 
tion was  going.  "  Three  cheers  for  Honest  Abe !  He  is  our 
man." 

There  arose  a  great  shout  of  "  Captain  Lincoln ! " 

Jasper  marked  the  delight  which  the  election  had  given  his 
old  New  Salem  friends.  Lincoln  himself  once  said  that  that 
election  was  the  proudest  event  of  his  life. 

The  New  Salem  Company  went  into  camp  at  Beardstown, 


MAIN-POGUE.  199 

and  was  disbanded  at  Ottawa  thirty  days  after,  not  having  met 
the  enemy.  Lincoln,  feeling  that  he  should  be  true  to  his 
country  and  the  public  safety  at  the  hour  of  peril,  enlisted 
again  as  a  common  private,  served  another  thirty  days,  and 
then,  the  war  not  being  over,  he  enlisted  again.  The  war  ter- 
minated with  the  battle  of  Bad  Axe  and  the  capture  of  Black 
Hawk,  who  became  a  prisoner  of  state. 

One  day,  when  the  volunteers  were  greatly  excited  by  the 
tales  of  Indian  murders,  and  were  beset  by  foes  lurking  in  am- 
bush and  pirogue,  a  remarkable  scene  occurred  in  Lincoln's 
camp. 

The  men,  who  had  been  talking  over  a  recent  massacre  by 
the  Indians,  were  thirsting  to  avenge  the  barbarities,  when  sud- 
denly the  withered  form  of  an  Indian  appeared  before  them. 

They  started,  and  an  officer  demanded : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Main-Pogue." 

"  How  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  friend  to  the  white  man.  I'm  going  to  meet  my 
son,  a  boy  whom  I  have  made  my  own." 

"  You  are  a  spy ! " 

"  I  am  not  a  spy.  I  am  Main-Pogue.  I  am  hungry ;  I  am 
old.  I  am  no  spy.  Give  an  old  Indian  food,  and  I  will  serve 
you  while  you  need.  Then  let  me  go  and  find  my  boy." 

"  Food ! "  said  one.  "  You  are  a  spy,  a  plotter.  There  is 
murder  in  your  heart.  We  will  make  short  work  with  you. 
That  is  what  we  are  sent  out  to  do." 

"  I  never  did  the  white  man  harm,"  said  the  old  man,  draw- 
ing his  blanket  around  him. 
14 


200  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  You  shall  pay  for  this,  you  old  hypocrite ! "  said  another 
officer.  "  Men,  what  shall  we  do  with  this  spy?  " 

"  Kill  him ! "  said  one. 

"  Shoot  him ! "  said  another. 

"  Torture  him,  and  make  him  confess ! "  said  a  third. 

The  old  Indian  stood  bent  and  trembling. 

"  I  am  a  wandering  beggar,  looking  for  my  boy,"  said  the 
Indian.  "  I  never  did  the  white  man  harm.  Hear  me." 

"  You  belong  to  Black  Hawk's  devils,"  said  an  officer, 
"and  you  are  plotting  our  death.  You  shall  be  shot.  Seize 
him ! " 

The  old  Indian  trembled  as  the  men  surrounded  him  bent 
on  his  destruction. 

There  came  toward  the  excited  company  a  tall  young  offi- 
cer. All  eyes  were  bent  upon  him.  He  peered  into  the  face  of 
the  old  Indian.  The  men  rushed  forward  to  obey  the  officer. 

"  Halt ! "  said  the  tall  captain.  "  This  Indian  must  not  be 
killed  by  us." 

That  speaker  was  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  men  jeered  at 
him,  but  he  stood  between  the  Indian  and  them,  like  a  form  of 
iron. 

The  Indian  gave  his  protector  a  grateful  look,  and  there 
dropped  from  his  hand  a  passport,  which  in  his  confusion  he 
had  failed  to  give  the  officer.  It  was  a  certificate  saying  that 
he  had  rendered  good  service  to  the  Government,  and  it  was 
signed  by  General  Cass. 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  save  him  ?  "  asked  a  volunteer  of 
young  Lincoln.  "  Your  grandfather  was  killed  by  an  Indian. 
You  are  a  coward ! " 


MAIN-POGUE.  201 

"  I  would  do  what  is  right  by  any  man,"  said  Lincoln, 
fiercely.  "  Who  says  I  am  a  coward  ?  I  will  meet  him  here  in 
an  open  contest.  Now,  let  the  man  who  says  I  am  a  coward 
meet  me  face  to  face  and  hand  to  hand." 

He  stood  over  the  cowering  Indian,  dark,  self-confident  and 
defiant. 

"  I  stand  for  justice.  Let  him  come  on.  I  stand  alone  for 
right.  Let  him  come  on. — Main-Pogue,  go  ! " 

Out  of  the  camp  hobbled  the  Indian,  with  the  long,  strong 
arm  of  Abraham  Lincoln  lifted  over  him.  The  eyes  of  the  men 
followed  him  in  anger,  disappointment,  and  scorn.  Hard 
words  passed  from  one  to  the  other.  He  felt  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  that  he  stood  in  this  matter  utterly  alone. 

"  Jeer  on,"  he  said.  "  I  would  shield  this  Indian  at  the  cost 
of  my  life.  I  would  not  be  a  true  soldier  if  I  failed  in  my  duty 
to  this  old  man.  In  every  event  of  life  it  is  right  that  makes 
might ;  and  the  rights  of  an  Indian  are  as  sacred  as  those  of  any 
other  man,  and  I  would  defend  them,  at  whatever  cost,  as  those 
of  a  white  man. — Main-Pogue,  go  hence !  Here  will  I  stand 
between  you  and  death." 

"  Heaven  bless  you  for  protecting  a  poor  old  man  !  I  have 
been  a  runner  for  the  whites  for  many  years,  but  I  have  never 
met  a  man  like  you.  I  will  tell  my  boy  of  this.  Your  name  is 
Lincoln  ?  " 

"  Yes — Abraham  Lincoln,  though  the  name  matters  noth- 
ing." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  FOREST  COLLEGE. 

ELL,  how  time  flies,  and  the  clock  of  the  year 
does  go  round !  Here's  the  elder  again  !  It's 
a  bright  day  that  brings  ye  here,  though  I 
shouldn't  let  ye  sleep  in  the  prophet's  cham- 
ber, if  I  had  one,  'cause  ye  ain't  any  prophet 
at  all.  But  ye  are  right  welcome  just  the  same.  Where  is 
yer  Indian  boy?" 

"  He's  gone  to  his  own  people,  Aunt  Olive." 
"  To  whet  his  tommyhawk,  I  make  no  doubt.  Oh,  elder, 
how  ye  have  been  deceived  in  people  !  Ye  believe  that  every 
one  is  as  good  as  one  can  be,  or  can  be  grafted  to  bear  sweet 
fruit,  but,  hoe-down-hoe,  elder,  'taint  so.  Yer  Aunt  Indiana 
knows  how  desperately  wicked  is  the  human  heart.  If  ye 
don't  do  others,  others  will  do  ye,  and  this  world  is  a  warfare. 
Come  in;  I've  got  somethin'  new  to  tell  ye.  It's  about  the 
Linkens'  Abe." 

The  Tunker  entered  the  cheerful  cabin  in  the  sunny  clear- 
ing of  the  timber. 

"I've  been  savin'  up  the  news  to  tell  ye  when  ye  came. 
Abe's  been  to  war ! " 

"  He  has  not  been  hurt,  has  he  ?  " 

(302) 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGE.  203 

"  Hurt !  No,  he  hasn't  been  hurt.  A  great  Indian  fighter 
he  proved  !  The  men  were  all  laughin'  about  it.  He'll  live  to 
fight  another  day,  as  the  say  in'  goes,  and  so  will  the  enemy. 
Well,  I  always  thought  that  there  was  no  need  of  killin' 
people.  Let  them  alone,  and  they  will  all  die  themselves ;  and 
as  for  the  enemy,  let  them  alone,  and  they  will  come  home 
waggin'  their  tails  behind  them,  as  the  ditty  says.  "Well,  I 
must  tell  ye.  Abe's  been  to  war.  He  didn't  see  the  enemy, 
nor  fight,  nor  nothin'.  But  a  wild  Indian  came  right  into 
his  camp,  and  the  soldiers  started  up  to  kill  him,  and  what  do 
ye  suppose  Abe  did  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  did  what  he  thought  to  be  right." 

"  He  let  him  go  !  There !  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
He  just  went  to  fightin'  his  own  company  to  save  the  Indian. 
There's  a  warrior  for  ye  !  And  that  wasn't  all.  He  talked  in 
such  a  way  that  he  frightened  his  own  men,  and  he  just  gave 
the  Indian  some  bread  and  cheese,  and  let  him  off.  And  the 
Indian  went  off  blessin'  him.  Abe  will  never  make  a  soldier 
or  handle  armies  much,  after  all  yer  prophecies.  Suck  a  sol- 
dier as  that  ought  to  be  rewarded  a  pinfeather." 

"  His  conduct  was  after  the  Galilean  teaching — was  it  not  ? 
— and  produced  the  result  of  making  the  Indiaii.  a  friend. 
"Was  not  that  a  good  thing  to  do  ?  "Who  was  the  Indian  ?  " 

"  It  was  old  Main-Pogne.  He  was  uncle,  or  somethin',  to 
that  boy  who  used  to  travel  about  with  you,  teachin'  you  the 
language — "Waubeno ;  the  old  interpreter  for  General  Cass's 
men.  He'll  go  off  and  tell  Waubeno.  I  wonder  if  Main-Pogue 
knew  who  it  was  that  saved  him,  and  if  he  will  tell  Waubeno 
that?" 


204  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  Lincoln  did  a  noble  act." 

"  Oh,  elder,  ye've  got  a  good  heart,  but  ye're  weak  in  yer 
upper  story.  That  ain't  all  I've  got  to  tell  ye.  Abe  has  failed, 
after  all  yer  prophecies,  too.  He  and  another  man  went  to 
keepin'  store  up  in  New  Salem,  and  he  let  his  partner  cheat 
him,  and  they  failed ;  and  now  he's  just  workin'  to  pay  up 
his  debts,  and  his  partner's  too." 

"And  his  partner's  too?  That  shows  that  he  saved  an 
honest  purpose  out  of  losses.  The  greatest  of  all  losses  is  a  loss 
of  integrity  of  purpose.  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  he  has  not  lost 
that." 

"  Oh,  elder,  ye've  allus  somethin'  good  to  say  of  that  boy. 
But  I'm  not  agin  him.  He's  Tom  Linken's  son,  just  as  I  told 
ye ;  and  he'll  never  come  to  anythin'  good.  He  all  runs  to 
books  and  gabble,  and  goes  'round  repeatin'  poetry,  which  is 
only  the  lies  of  crazy  folks.  I  haven't  any  use  for  poetry,  ex- 
cept hymns.  But  he's  had  real  trouble  of  late,  besides  these 
things,  and  I'm  sorry  for  that.  He's  lost  the  girl  what  he  was 
goin'  to  marry.  She  was  a  beautiful  girl,  and  her  death  made 
him  so  downhearted  that  they  had  to  shut  him  up  and  watch 
him  to  keep  him  from  committin'  suicide.  They  say  that  he 
has  very  melancholy  spells.  He  can't  help  that,  I  don't  sup- 
pose. His  mother  what  sleeps  over  yonder  under  the  timber 
was  melancholy.  How  are  all  the  schools  that  you  set  to  goin' 
on  the  Wabash  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  growing,  good  woman,  and  it  fills  my  heart 
with  delight  to  see  them  grow.  They  are  all  growing  like  gar- 
dens for  the  good  of  this  great  country.  It  does  my  heart  good, 
and  makes  my  soul  happy,  to  start  these  Christian  schools.  It's 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGE.  205 

my  mission.  And  I  try  to  start  them  right — character  first,  true 
views  of  things  next,  and  books  last;  but  the  teaching  of  young 
children  to  think  and  act  right  spiritually  is  the  highest  educa- 
tion of  all.  This  is  best  done  by  telling  stories,  and  so  I  travel 
and  travel  telling  stories  to  schools.  You  do  not  see  my  plan, 
but  it  is  the  true  seed  that  I  am  planting,  and  it  will  bear  fruit 
when  I  am  gone  to  a  better  world  than  this." 

"  Oh,  ye  mean  well,"  said  Aunt  Olive,  "  but  ye  don't  know 
more  than  some  whole  families — pardon  my  plainness  of  speech. 
I  don't  doubt  that  ye  are  doin'  some  good,  after  a  fashion ;  but 
don't  prophesy — yer  prophecies  in  regard  to  Abe  have  failed 
already.  He'll  never  command  the  American  army,  nor  run 
the  nation,  nor  keep  store.  Yer  Aunt  Indiana  can  read 
character,  and  her  prophecies  have  proved  true  so  far." 

"  Wait — time  tells  the  whole  truth ;  and  worth  is  worth,  and 
passes  for  the  true  gold  of  life  in  time." 

"  Ye  don't  think  that  there's  any  chance  for  him  yet,  do 
ye,  elder,  after  lettin'  the  Indian  go,  and  failin',  and  havin' 
that  melancholy  spell  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     My  spiritual  sense  tells  me  so." 

"Yer  spiritual  sense!  Elder,  ye  ought  to  go  to  school. 
Ye  are  nothin'  but  a  child  yerself.  And  let  me  advise  ye 
never  to  have  anythin'  more  to  do  with  that  there  Indian  boy. 
Fishes  don't  swim  on  rocks,  nor  hawks  go  to  live  in  a  cage. 
An  Indian  is  an  Indian,  and,  mark  my  words,  that  boy  will  have 
yer  scalp  some  day.  He  will,  now — he  will.  I  saw  it  in  his 
eye." 

The  Tunker  journeyed  toward  the  new  town  of  Springfield, 
Illinois,  along  the  fragrant  timber  and  over  the  blooming 


206  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

prairies.  Everywhere  were  to  be  seen  the  white  prairie  schooner 
and  the  little  village  of  people  that  followed  it. 

Springfield  was  but  a  promising  village  at  this  time,  in  a  very 
fertile  land.  Probably  no  one  ever  thought  that  it  would  become 
a  capital  city  of  an  empire  of  population,  the  hub  of  that  great 
wheel  of  destiny  rimmed  by  the  Wabash,  the  Mississippi,  Rock 
River,  and  the  Lake ;  and  still  less  did  any  one  ever  dream 
that  it  would  be  the  legislative  influence  of  that  tall,  laughing, 
sad-faced  boy,  Lincoln,  who  would  produce  this  result. 

Jasper  preached  at  Springfield,  and  visited  the  log  school- 
house,  and  told  stories  to  the  little  school.  He  then  started  to 
walk  to  New  Salem,  a  distance  of  some  eighteen  or  twenty 
miles. 

It  was  a  pleasant  country,  and  all  things  seemed  teeming 
with  life,  for  it  was  now  the  high  tide  of  the  year.  The  prai- 
ries were  billows  of  flowers,  and  the  timber  was  shady  and  cool, 
carpeted  with  mosses,  tangled  with  vines,  with  its  tops  bright 
with  sunshine  and  happy  with  the  songs  of  birds. 

About  half-way  between  the  two  towns  Jasper  saw  some 
lofty  trees,  giants  of  the  forest,  that  spread  out  their  branches 
like  roofs  of  some  ancient  temple.  There  were  birds'  nests 
made  of  sticks  in  their  tops,  and  a  cool  stream  ran  under 
them.  He  sought  the  place  for  rest. 

As  he  entered  the  great  shadow,  he  saw  a  tall  young  man 
seated  on  a  log,  absorbed  in  reading  a  book.  He  approached 
him,  and  recognized  him  as  young  Lincoln. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here,  in  this  beautiful  place,"  he 
said. 

"  This  is  my  college,"  said  Lincoln. 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGE.  207 

"  What  are  you  studying,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  trying  my  hand  at  law  a  little.  Stuart,  the 
Springfield  lawyer,  lends  me  his  law-books,  and  I  walk  over 
there  from  New  Salem  to  get  them,  and  when  I  get  as' far  back 
as  this  I  sit  down  on  this  log  and  study.  I  can  study  when  I 
am  walking.  I  once  mastered  forty  pages  of  Blackstone  in  a 
walk.  But  I  love  to  stop  and  study  on  this  log.  It  is  rather  a 
long  walk  from  New  Salem  to  Springfield — almost  twenty 
miles — and  when  I  get  as  far  back  as  this  I  feel  tired.  These 
trees  are  so  grand  that  they  look  like  a  house  of  Nature,  and 
I  call  them  my  college.  I  can't  have  the  privileges  of  better- 
off  young  men,  who  can  go  to  Philadelphia,  New  York,  or 
Boston  to  study  law,  and  so  I  do  the  best  I  can  here.  I  get 
discouraged  sometimes,  but  I  believe  that  right  is  might,  and 
do  my  best,  and  there  is  something  that  is  leading  me  on." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  here,  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  love  you 
in  my  heart,  and  I  wish  that  I  might  help  you  in  your  studies. 
But  I  have  never  studied  law." 

"  But  you  do  help  me." 

"How?" 

"  By  your  faith  in  me.  Elder,  I  have  been  having  a  hard 
row  to  hoe,  and  am  an  unlucky  fellow.  Have  been  keeping 
a  grocery,  and  we  have  failed — failed  right  at  the  beginning 
of  life.  It  hurt  my  pride,  but,  elder,  it  has  not  hurt  my  honor. 
I've  worked  and  paid  up  all  my  debts,  and  now  I  am  going  to 
pay  his.  I  might  make  excuses  for  not  paying  his  part  of  the 
debts,  but,  elder,  it  would  not  leave  my  name  clear.  I  must 
live  conscience  free.  People  call  me  a  fool,  but  they  trust  me. 
They  have  made  me  postmaster  at  New  Salem,  though  that 


208  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

ain't  much  of  an  office.  The  mail  comes  only  once  a  week,  and 
I  carry  it  in  my  hat.  They'll  need  a  new  post-office  by  and  by." 

"  My  friend,  you  are  giving  yourself  a  moral  self-education 
that  has  more  worth  than  all  the  advantages  of  wealth  or  a 
famous  name  or  the  schools  of  Boston.  The  time  will  come 
when  this  growing  people  will  need  such  a  man  as  you  to  lead 
them,  and  you  will  lead  them  more  grandly  than  others  who 
have  had  an  easier  school.  You  have  learned  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  true  education — it  is,  the  habit  that  can  not  do  wrong 
without  feeling  the  flames  of  torment  within.  Every  sacrifice 
that  you  have  made  to  your  conscience  has  given  you  power. 
That  power  is  a  godlike  thing.  You  will  see  all  one  day,  as 
I  do  now." 

"  Elder,  they  call  me  a  merry-maker,  but  I  carry  with  me 
a  sad  heart.  I  wish  to  tell  you,  for  I  feel  that  you  are  my  true 
friend.  I  loved  Ann  Kutledge.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
James  Rutledge,  the  founder  of  our  village  and  the  owner  of 
the  mill  on  the  Sangamon.  She  was  a  girl  of  a  loving  heart, 
gentle  blood,  and  her  face  was  lovely.  You  saw  her  at  the 
tavern.  I  loved  her — I  loved  her  very  name  ;  and  she  is  dead. 
It  has  all  happened  since  you  were  here,  and  I  have  wished  to 
meet  you  again  and  tell  you  all.  Such  things  as  these  make 
me  melancholy.  -  A  great  darkness  comes  down  upon  me  at 
times,  and  I  am  tempted  to  end  all  the  bright  dream  that  we 
call  life.  But  I  rise  above  the  temptation.  Elder,  you  don't 
know  how  my  heart  has  had  to  struggle.  I  sometimes  think  of 
my  poor  mother's  grave  in  the  timber  in  Indiana,  and  I  always 
think  of  Tier  grave — Ann  Rutledge's — and  then  it  comes  over 
me  like  a  cloud,  that  there  is  no  place  for  me  in  the  world. 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGIE.  209 

Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  do  in  those  hours,  elder?  I 
repeat  a  long  poem.  I  have  said  it  over  a  hundred  times.  It 
was  written  by  some  poet  who  felt  as  I  do.  I  would  like  to 
repeat  it  to  you,  elder.  I  tell  stories — they  only  make  me  more 
melancholy — but  this  poem  soothes  my  mind.  It  makes  me 
feel  that  other  men  have  suffered  before,  and  it  makes  me  will- 
ing to  suffer  for  others,  and  to  accept  my  lot  in  life,  whatever 
it  may  be." 

"  I  wish  to  hear  the  poem  that  has  so  moved  you,"  said 
the  Tunker. 

Abraham  Lincoln  stood  up  and  leaned  against  the  trunk  of 
one  of  the  giant  trees.  The  sunlight  was  sifting  through  the 
great  canopy  of  leaves,  boughs,  and  nests  overhead,  and  afar 
gleamed  the  prairies  like  gardens  of  the  sun.  He  lifted  his 
long  arm,  and,  with  a  sad  face,  said  : 

"  Elder,  listen. 

" '  Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  ? 
Like  a  swift-fleeting  meteor,  a  fast-flying  cloud, 
A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 
He  passeth  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. 

"  '  The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willow  shall  fade, 
Be  scattered  around,  and  together  be  laid ; 
And  the  young  and  the  old,  and  the  low  and  the  high, 
Shall  molder  to  dust,  and  together  shall  lie. 

" '  The  infant  a  mother  attended  and  loved, 

The  mother  that  infant's  affection  who  proved, 
The  husband  that  mother  and  infant  who  blest — 
Each,  all,  are  away  to  their  dwellings  of  rest. 

" '  [  The  maid  on  whose  cheek,  on  whose  brow,  in  whose  eye, 
Shone  beauty  and  pleasure,  her  triumphs  are  by  ; 


210  IN  THE  EOT  HOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

And  the  memory  of  those  who  loved  her  and  praised, 
Are  alike  from  the  minds  of  the  living  erased.] 

" '  The  hand  of  the  king  that  the  scepter  hath  borne, 
The  brow  of  the  priest  that  the  miter  hath  worn, 
The  eye  of  the  sage,  and  the  heart  of  the  brave, 
Are  hidden  and  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  grave. 

"  '  The  peasant  whose  lot  was  to  sow  and  to  reap, 

The  herdsman  who  climbed  with  his  goats  up  the  steep, 
The  beggar  who  wandered  in  search  of  his  bread, 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

" '  [The  saint  who  enjoyed  the  communion  of  Heaven, 
The  sinner  who  dared  to  remain  unforgiven, 
The  wise  and  the  foolish,  the  guilty  and  just, 
Have  quietly  mingled  their  bones  in  the  dust.] 

" '  So  the  multitude  goes,  like  the  flower  or  the  weed 
That  withers  away  to  let  others  succeed ; 
So  the  multitude  comes,  even  those  we  behold, 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  has  often  been  told. 

"  '  For  we  are  the  same  our  fathers  have  been ; 
We  see  the  same  sights  our  fathers  have  seen  ; 
We  drink  the  same  stream,  we  view  the  same  sun, 
And  run  the  same  course  our  fathers  have  run. 

" '  The  thoughts  we  are  thinking  our  fathers  would  think ; 
From  the  death  we  are  shrinking  our  fathers  would  shrink ; 
To  the  life  we  are  clinging  they  also  would  cling ; 
But  it  speeds  from  us  all  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 

" '  They  loved,  but  the  story  we  can  not  unfold ; 

They  scorned,  but  the  heart  of  the  haughty  is  cold ; 
They  grieved,  but  no  wail  from  their  slumber  will  come ; 
They  joyed,  but  the  tongue  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

"'They  died,  ay,  they  died:  we  things  that  are  now, 
That  walk  on  the  turf  that  lies  over  their  brow, 
And  make  in  their  dwellings  a  transient  abode, 
Meet  the  things  that  they  met  on  their  pilgrimage  road. 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGE.  211 

" '  Yea,  hope  and  despondency,  pleasure  and  pain, 
Are  mingled  together  in  sunshine  and  rain ; 
And  the  smile  and  the  tear,  the  song  and  the  dirge, 
Still  follow  each  other  like  surge  upon  surge. 

" ' '  Tis  the  wink  of  an  eye,  'tis  the  draught  of  a  breath, 
From  the  blossom  of  health  to  the  paleness  of  death, 
From  the  gilded  saloon  to  the  bier  and  the  shroud — 
Oh,  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  ? ' " 

He  stood  there  in  moody  silence  when  he  had  finished  the 
recitation,  which  was  (unknown  to  him)  from  the  pen  of  a 
pastoral  Scotch  poet.  The  Tunker  looked  at  him,  and  saw 
how  deep  were  his  feelings,  and  how  earnest  were  his  desires  to 
know  the  true  way  of  life  and  to  do  well  his  mission,  and  go 
on  with  the  great  multitude,  whose  procession  comes  upon  the 
earth  and  vanishes  from  the  scenes.  But  he  did  not  dream  of 
the  greatness  of  the  destiny  for  which  that  student  was  pre- 
paring in  the  hard  college  of  the  woods. 

"  My  education  must  always  be  defective,"  said  the  young 
student.  "  I  can  riot  read  law  in  great  law-offices,  like  other 
young  men,  but  I  can  be  just — I  can  do  right ;  and  I  would 
never  undertake  a  case  of  law,  for  any  money,  that  I  did  not 
think  right  and  just.  I  would  stand  for  what  I  thought  was 
right,  as  I  did  by  the  old  Indian,  and  I  think  that  the  people 
in  time  would  learn  to  trust  me." 

"  Abraham  Lincoln,  to  school  one's  conscience  to  the  habit 
of  right,  so  that  it  can  not  do  wrong,  is  the  first  and  the  high- 
est education.  It  is  what  one  is  that  makes  him  a  knight,  and 
that  is  the  only  true  knighthood.  The  highest  education  is 
that  of  the  soul.  Did  you  know  that  the  Indian  whom  you 
saved  was  Maiu-Posrue  ?  " 


212  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  Yes." 

"And  that  Main-Pogue  is  the  uncle  and  foster-father  of 
my  old  guide,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"No.  "Waubeno  was  the  boy  who  came  with  you  to  the 
Wabash?" 

"  Waubeno's  father  was  killed  by  the  white  people.  He  was 
condemned  to  death.  He  asked  to  go  home  to  see  his  family 
once  more,  and  returned  upon  his  honor  to  die.  That  old  story 
is  true.  Does  it  seem  possible  that  an  English  soldier  could 
ever  take  the  life  of  an  Indian  like  that  ?  " 

"  No,  it  does  not.  Will  Main-Pogue  tell  Waubeno  that  it 
was  I  who  saved  him  ?  " 

"  Does  Main-Pogue  know  you  by  name?    I  hope  he  does." 

"  He  may  have  forgotten.  I  would  like  for  him  to  remem- 
ber it,  because  the  Indian  boy  liked  me,  and  an  Indian  killed 
my  grandfather.  I  liked  that  Indian  boy,  and  I  would  do  jus- 
tice, if  I  could,  by  all  men,  and  any  man." 

"  Lincoln,  I  came  to  love  and  respect  that  Indian  boy. 
There  was  a  native  nobility  in  him.  But  my  efforts  to  make 
him  a  Christian  failed,  for  he  carried  revenge  in  his  heart. 
I  wish  that  he  could  know  that  it  was  you  who  did  that  deed  ; 
your  character  might  be  an  influence  that  would  strike  an 
unknown  cord  in  the  boy's  heart,  for  Waubeno  has  a  noble 
heart — Waubeno  is  noble.  I  wish  he  knew  who  it  was  that 
spared  Main-Pogue.  Acts  teach  where  words  fail,  and  the 
true  teacher  is  not  lips,  but  life.  The  boy  once  said  to  me  that 
he  would  cease  to  seek  to  avenge  his  father's  death  if  he  could 
find  a  single  white  man  who  would  defend  an  Indian  to  his 
own  harm,  because  it  was  right.  Now,  Lincoln,  you  have  done 


THE  FOREST  COLLEGE.  213 

just  the  act  that  would  change  his  heart.  But  he  has  gone 
with  the  winds.  How  will  he  ever  hear  of  it?  How  will  he 
ever  know  it  ? 

"  When  Main-Pogue  meets  him,  if  he  ever  does  again,  he 
may  tell  him  all.  But  does  Main-Pogue  understand  the  rela- 
tions that  exist  between  you  and  me,  and  us  and  that  boy  ?  0 
Waubeno,  Waubeno,  I  would  that  you  might  hear  of  this  ! " 

He  thought,  and  added  :  "  He  will  hear  of  it,  somehow,  in 
some  way.  Providence  makes  golden  keys  of  deeds  like  yours. 
They  unlock  the  doors  of  mystery.  Let  me  see,  what  was  it 
Waubeno  said — his  exact  words  ?  '  When  I  find  a  single  white 
man  who  defends  an  Indian  to  his  own  hurt,  because  it  is 
right,  I  will  promise.'  Lincoln,  he  said  that.  You  are  that 
man.  Lincoln,  may  God  bless  you,  and  call  you  into  his  serv- 
ice when  he  has  need  of  a  man  !  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MAKING  LINCOLN  A  "SON  OF  MALTA." 

HEN  Jasper,  some  years  later,  again  met  Aunt 
Eastman,  she  had  a  yet  more  curious  story  to 
tell  about  Abraham. 

It  was  spring,  and  the  cherry-trees  were  in 
bloom  and  musical  with  bees.  In  the  yard  a 
single  apple-tree  was  red  with  blooms,  which  made  fragrant 
the  air. 

"And  here  comes  Johnnie  Apple-seed ! "  said  Aunt  Olive. 
"  Heaven  bless  ye !  I  call  ye  Johnnie  Apple-seed  because  ye 
remind  me  so  much  of  that  good  man.  He  was  a  good  man,  if 
he  had  lost  his  wits  ;  and  ye  mean  well,  just  as  he  did.  Smell 
the  apple-blossoms !  I  don't  know  but  it  was  liim  that  planted 
that  there  tree." 

To  explain  Aunt  Olive's  remarks,  we  should  say  that  there 
once  wandered  along  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  a  poor  wayfaring 
man  who  had  a  singular  impression  of  duty.  He  felt  it  to  be 
his  calling  in  life  to  plant  apple-seeds.  He  would  go  to  a 
farmer's  house,  ask  for  work,  and  remain  at  the  place  a  few 
days  or  weeks.  After  he  had  gone,  apple-seeds  would  be  found 
sprouting  about  the  farm.  His  journeys  were  the  beginnings 
of  many  orchards  in  the  Middle,  West,  and  prairie  States. 

(214) 


MAKING  LINCOLN  A  "SON  OF  MALTA."  215 

"  I  love  to  smell  apple-blossoms,"  said  Aunt  Olive.  "  It  re- 
minds me  of  old  New  England.  I  can  almost  hear  the  bells 
ring  on  the  old  New  England  hills  when  I  smell  apple-blooms. 
They  say  that  Johnnie  Apple-seed  is  dead,  and  that  they  filled 
his  grave  with  apple-blooms.  I  don't  know  as  it  is  so,  but  it 
ought  to  be.  I  sometimes  wish  that  I  was  a  poet,  because  a 
poet  fixes  things  as  they  ought  to  be — makes  the  world  all  over 
right.  But,  la !  Abe  Linken  was  a  poet.  Have  ye  heard  the 
news?" 

"  No.     What  ?— nothing  bad,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  He's  hung  out  his  shingle." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  In  Springfield." 

"  In  Springfield  ?  " 

"Yes,  elder,  I've  seen  it.  I  have  traveled  a  good  deal 
since  I  saw  you — 'round  to  camp-meetin',  and  fairs,  rightin' 
things,  and  doin'  all  the  good  I  can.  I've  seen  it.  And,  elder, 
they've  made  a  mock  Mason  on  him." 

In  the  pioneer  days  of  Illinois  the  making  of  mock  Masons, 
or  pseudo  Sons  of  Malta,  was  a  popular  form  of  frolic,  now 
almost  forgotten.  Young  people  formed  mock  lodges  or  secret 
societies,  for  the  purpose  of  initiating  new  members  by  a  series 
of  tricks,  which  became  the  jokes  of  the  community. 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Olive,  "  and  what  do  ye  think  they  did  ? 
Well,  in  them  societies  they  first  test  the  courage  of  those  who 
want  to  be  new  members.  There's  Judge  Ball,  now;  when 
they  tested  his  courage,  what  do  you  think  ?  They  blindfolded 
him,  and  turned  up  his  blue  jean  trousers  about  the  ankles,  and 
said, '  Now  let  out  the  snakes ! '  and  they  took  an  elder-bush 
15 


216  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

squirt-gun  and  squirted  water  over  his  feet ;  and  the  water  was 
cold,  and  he  thought  it  was  snakes,  and  he  jumped  clear  up  to 
the  cross-beams  on  the  chamber  floor,  and  screamed  and 
screamed,  and  they  wouldn't  have  him." 

Jasper  had  never  heard  of  these  rude  methods  of  making 
jokes  and  odd  stories  in  the  backwoods. 

"  What  did  they  do  to  test  Abraham's  courage  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know — blindfolded  him  and  dressed  him  up  like  a 
donkey,  and  led  him  up  to  a  lookin'-glass,  and  made  him  prom- 
ise that  he  would  never  tell  what  he  saw,  and  then  owbandaged 
his  eyes — or  something  of  that  kind.  His  courage  stood  the 
test.  Of  course  it  did ;  no  matter  what  they  might  have  done, 
no  one  could  frighten  Abe.  But  he  got  the  best  o'  them." 

"How?" 

"  He  took  up  a  collection  for  a  poor  woman  that  he  had  met 
on  the  way,  and  proposed  to  change  the  society  into  a  commit- 
tee for  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  sufferin'." 

"  That  shows  his  heart  again." 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  say  that,  elder." 

"  Everything  that  I  hear  of  Lincoln  shows  how  that  his 
character  grows.  It  is  my  daily  prayer  that  "Waubeno  may 
hear  of  how  he  saved  Main-Pogue.  It  would  change  the  heart 
of  Waubeno.  He  will  know  of  it  some  day,  and  then  he  will 
fulfill  his  promise  to  me." 

The  Tunker  sat  down  in  the  door  under  the  blooming 
cherry-trees,  and  Aunt  Olive  brought  a  tray  of  food,  and  they 
ate  their  supper  there. 

Afar  stretched  the  prairies.  The  larks  quivered  in  the  air, 
happy  in  the  May-time,  and  gurgling  with  song.  In  the  sunny 


SARAH  BUSH  LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  STEP-MOTHER. 

After  photograph  taken  in  1865. 


MAKING  LINCOLN  A  "SON  OF  MALTA."  217 

outlines  were  seen  a  train  of  prairie  schooners  winding  over 
the  plain. 

These  were  rude  times,  when  all  things  were  new.  Men 
were  purchasing  the  future  by  hardship  and  toil.  But  the  two 
religious  enthusiasts  presented  a  happy  picture  as  they  sat  un- 
der the  cherry-trees  and  talked  of  camp- meetings,  and  the 
inner  light,  and  all  they  had  experienced,  and  ate  their  frugal 
meal.  Odd  though  their  views  and  beliefs  and  habits  may 
seem  in  some  respects,  each  had  a  definite  purpose  of  good ; 
each  lived  in  the  horizon  of  bright  prospects  here  and  here- 
after, and  each  was  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXL 
PRAIRIE  ISLAND. 

HE  beautiful  country  between  Lake  Michigan, 
or  old  Fort  Dearborn,  and  the  Mississippi,  or 
Rock  Island,  was  once  a  broad  prairie,  a  sea  of 
flowers,  birds,  and  bright  insects.  The  buffa- 
loes roamed  over  it  in  great  herds,  and  the 
buffalo-birds  followed  them.  The  sun  rose  over  it  as  over  a 
sea,  and  the  arched  aurora  rose  red  above  it  like  some  far  gate 
of  a  land  of  fire.  Here  the  Sacs  and  Foxes  roamed  free ;  the 
lowas  and  the  tribes  of  the  North.  It  was  one  vast  sunland, 
a  breeze-swept  brightness,  almost  without  a  dot  or  shadow. 

Almost,  but  not  quite.  Here  and  there,  like  islands  in  a 
summer  sea,  rose  dark  groves  of  oak  and  vines.  These  spots 
of  refreshment  were  called  prairie  islands,  and  in  one  of  these 
islands,  now  gone,  a  pioneer  colony  made  their  homes,  and  built 
a  meeting-house,  which  was  also  to  be  used  as  a  school-house. 
Six  or  more  of  these  families  were  from  Germantown,  Penn- 
sylvania, and  were  Tunkers.  The  other  families  were  from  the 
New  England  States. 

To  this  nameless  village,  long  ago  swept  away  by  the  prairie 
fires,  went  Jasper  the  Parable,  with  his  cobbling-tools,  his 
stories,  and  his  gospel  of  universal  love  and  good-will.  The 

(218) 


PRAIRIE  ISLAND.  219 

Tunkers  welcomed  him  with  delight,  and  the  emigrants  from 
New  England  looked  upon  him  kindly  as  a  good  and  well- 
meaning  man.  There  were  some  fifteen  or  twenty  children 
in  the  settlement,  and  here  the  peaceful  disciple  of  Pestalozzi, 
and  friend  of  Froebel,  applied  for  a  place  to  teach,  and  the 
school  was  by  unanimous  consent  assigned  to  him. 

So  began  the  school  at  Prairie  Island — a  school  where  the 
first  principles  of  education  were  perceived  and  taught,  and 
that  might  furnish  a  model  for  many  an  ambitious  institution 
of  to-day. 

"  It  is  life  that  teaches,"  the  Parable  used  to  say,  quoting 
Pestalozzi.  "  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  form  the  habits  that 
lead  to  character ;  the  next  thing  is  to  stamp  the  young  mind 
with  right  views  of  life;  then  comes  book-learning — words, 
figures,  and  maps — but  stories  that  educate  morally  are  the 
primer  of  life.  Christ  taught  spiritual  truths  by  parables. 
I  teach  formative  ideas  by  parables.  The  teacher  should  be 
a  story-teller.  In  my  own  country  all  children  go  through 
fairy-land.  Here  they  teach  the  young  figures  first,  as  though 
all  of  life  was  a  money-market.  It  is  all  unnatural  and  wrong. 
I  must  teach  and  preach  by  stories." 

The  school-house  was  a  simple  building  of  logs  and  prairie 
grass,  with  oiled  paper  for  windows,  and  a  door  that  opened 
out  and  afforded  a  view  of  the  vast  prairie-sea  to  the  west. 
Jasper  taught  here  five  days  in  a  week,  and  sang,  prayed,  and 
exhorted  on  Sunday  afternoons,  and  led  social  meetings  on 
Sunday  evenings.  The  little  community  were  united,  peaceful, 
and  happy.  They  were  industrious,  self-respecting  people,  who 
were  governed  by  their  moral  sense,  and  their  governing  prin- 


220  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

ciple  seemed  to  be  the  faith  that,  if  a  person  desired  and  sought 
to  follow  the  divine  will,  he  would  have  a  revelation  of  spiritual 
light,  which  would  be  like  the  opening  of  the  gates  of  heaven 
to  him.  Nearly  every  man  and  woman  had  some  special  expe- 
rience of  the  soul  to  tell ;  and  if  ever  there  was  a  community  of 
simple  faith  and  brotherhood,  it  was  here. 

Jasper's  school  began  in  the  summer,  when  the  sun  was 
high,  the  cool  shadows  of  the  oaks  grateful,  and  the  bluebells 
filled  the  tall,  wavy  grasses,  and  the  prairie  plover  swam  in  the 
air. 

Jasper's  first  teaching  was  by  the  telling  of  stories  that 
leave  in  the  young  mind  right  ideas  and  impressions. 

"  My  children,  listen,"  said  the  gracious  old  man,  as  he  sat 
down  to  his  rude  desk,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  some  stories  like 
those  Pestalozzi  used  to  tell.  Still,  now ! " 

He  lifted  his  finger  and  his  eyebrows,  and  sat  a  little  while 
in  silence. 

"  Hark  !  "  he  said.  "  Hear  the  birds  sing  in  the  trees ! 
Nature  is  teaching  us.  When  Nature  is  teaching  I  listen. 
Nature  is  a  greater  teacher  than  I,  or  any  man." 

The  little  school  sat  in  silence  and  listened.  They  had 
never  heard  the  birds  sing  in  that  way  before.  Presently  there 
was  a  hush  in  the  trees. 

"  Now  I  will  begin,"  said  he. 

PESTALOZZPS  STORIES. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  mushroom  ?  Yes,  there  are  mushrooms 
under  the  cool  trees.  Once,  in  the  days  when  the  plants  and 
flowers  and  trees  all  talked — they  talk  now,  but  we  have  ceased 


PRAIRIE  ISLAND.  221 

to  hear  them,  a  little  mushroom  bowed  in  the  winds,  and  said 
to  the  grass : 

"'  See  how  I  grow  !  I  came  up  in  a  single  night.  I  am  smart.' 

" '  Yes,'  said  the  grass,  waving  gently. 

"  '  But  you,'  said  the  smart  little  mushroom,  '  it  takes  you  a 
whole  year  to  grow.' 

"  The  grass  was  sorry  that  it  took  so  long  for  it  to  grow,  and 
hung  its  head,  and  thought,  and  thought. 

" '  But,'  said  the  grass,  '  you  spring  up  in  the  night,  and  in 
a  day  or  two  you  are  gone.  It  takes  me  a  year  to  grow, 
but  I  outlive  a  hundred  crops  of  mushrooms.  I  will  have 
patience  and  be  content.  Worth  is  of  slow  growth.' 

"  In  a  week  the  boastful  little  mushroom  was  gone,  but  the 
grass  bloomed  and  bore  seed,  and  left  a  lovely  memory  behind 
it.  Hark !  hear  the  breeze  in  the  trees !  Nature  is  teaching 
now.  Listen ! 

"  Now  I  will  tell  you  another  little  story,  such  as  I  used  to 
hear  Pestalozzi  relate.  I  am  going  to  tell  this  story  to  myself, 
but  you  may  listen.  I  have  told  a  story  to  you,  but  now  I  will 
talk  to  myself. 

"  There  once  was  a  king,  who  had  been  riding  in  the  sun, 
and  he  saw  afar  a  lime-tree,  full  of  cool,  green  leaves.  Oh,  how 
refreshing  it  looked  to  him  !  So  he  rode  up  to  the  lime-tree, 
and  rested  in  the  shadow. 

u  The  leaves  all  clung  to  the  branches,  and  the  winds  whis- 
pered among  them,  but  did  not  blow  them  away. 

"  Then  the  king  loved  the  tree,  and  he  said  : 

" '  0  tree,  would  that  my  people  clung  to  me  as  thy  leaves  do 
to  thy  branches ! ' 


222  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  The  tree  was  pleased,  and  spoke  : 

" '  Would  you  learn  from  me  wisdom  to  govern  thy  peo- 
ple?' 

" '  Yes,  0  lime-tree !    Speak  on." 

"  '  Would  you  know,  then,  what  makes  my  leaves  so  cling 
to  my  branches  ? ' 

"  « Yes,  0  Lime  Tree !    Speak  on.' 

" '  I  carry  to  them  the  sap  that  nourishes  them.  'Tis  he 
that  gives  himself  to  others  that  lives  in  others,  and  is  safe  and 
happy  himself.  Do  that,  and  thy  kingdom  shall  be  a  lime- 
tree.'" 

A  child  brought  iuto  the  room  a  bunch  of  harebells  and 
laid  them  upon  the  teacher's  desk. 

"  Look ! "  said  Jasper,  "  Nature  is  teaching.  Let  us  be  quiet 
a  little  and  hear  what  she  has  to  say.  The  harebells  bring  us 
good-will  from  the  sun  and  skies.  There  is  goodness  every- 
where, and  for  all.  Let  us  be  grateful. 

"  Now  I  will  give  you  another  little  Pestalozzian  story,  told 
in  my  own  way,  and  you  may  tell  it  to  your  fathers  and  moth- 
ers and  neighbors  when  you  go  home. 

"  There  was  once  a  man  who  had  two  little  ponies.  They 
were  pretty  creatures,  and  just  alike.  He  sold  one  of  them  to 
a  hard-hearted  man,  who  kicked  him  and  beat  him ;  and  the 
pony  said : 

" '  The  man  is  my  enemy.  I  will  be  his,  and  become  a  cun- 
ning and  vicious  horse.' 

"  So  the  pony  became  cunning  and  vicious,  and  threw  his 
rider  and  crippled  him,  and  grew  spavined  and  old,  and  every 
one  was  glad  when  he  was  dead. 


PRAIRIE  ISLAND.  223 

"  The  man  sold  the  other  pony  to  a  noble-hearted  man,  who 
treated  him  kindly  and  well.  Then  the  pony  said : 

" '  I  am  proud  of  my  master.  I  will  become  a  good  horse, 
and  my  master's  will  shall  be  my  own.' 

"  Like  the  master  became  the  horse.  He  became  strong 
and  beautiful.  They  chose  him  for  the  battle,  and  he  went 
through  the  wars,  and  the  master  slept  by  his  side.  He  bore 
his  master  at  last  in  a  triumphal  procession,  and  all  the  people 
were  sorry  when  he  came  to  die.  Our  minds  here  are  one  of 
the  little  colts. 

"  So  we  will  all  work  together.  The  lesson  is  ended.  You 
have  all  the  impressions  that  you  can  bear  for  one  day.  Now 
we  will  go  out  and  play." 

But  the  play-ground  was  made  a  field  of  teaching. 

"  There  are  plays  that  form  right  ideas,"  said  Jasper,  "  and 
plays  that  lead  to  an  evil  character.  I  teach  no  plays  that  lead 
to  cruelty  or  deception.  I  would  no  sooner  withhold  amuse- 
ments from  my  little  ones  than  water,  but  my  amusements,  like 
the  water,  must  be  healthy  and  good." 

There  was  one  odd  play  that  greatly  delighted  all  the  chil- 
dren of  the  Prairie  Island  school.  The  idea  of  it  was  evolved 
in  the  form  of  a  popular  song  many  years  afterward.  In  it  the 
children  are  supposed  to  ask  an  old  German  musician  how 
many  instruments  of  music  he  could  play,  and  he  acts  out  in 
pantomime  all  of  the  instruments  he  could  blow  or  handle. 
We  think  it  was  this  merriment  that  became  known  in  America 
as  the  song  of  Johnnie  Schmoker  in  the  minstrel  days. 

Not  the  children  only,  but  the  parents  also  all  delighted  to 
see  Jasper  pretend  to  play  all  the  instruments  of  the  German 


224  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

band.  Often  at  sunset,  when  the  settlers  came  in  from  the 
corn-fields  and  rested  under  the  great  trees,  Jasper  would  de- 
light the  islanders,  as  they  called  themselves,  with  this  odd 
play. 

"  The  purpose  of  education,"  Jasper  used  to  repeat  over  and 
over  to  his  friends  in  this  sunny  island  of  the  prairie  sea,  "  is 
not  to  teach  the  young  how  to  make  money  or  get  wealth  by 
a  cunning  brain,  but  how  to  live  for  the  soul.  The  soul's  best 
interests  are  in  life's  highest  interest,  and  there  is  no  poverty 
in  the  world  that  is  like  spiritual  poverty.  In  the  periods  of 
poetry  a  nation  is  great ;  and  when  poetry  fails,  the  birds 
cease  to  sing  and  the  flowers  to  bloom,  and  divinities  go  away, 
and  the  heart  turns  to  stone." 

There  was  one  story  that  he  often  repeated  to  his  little 
school.  The  pupils  liked  it  because  there  was  action  in  it,  as 
in  the  play-story  of  the  German  musician.  He  called  it 
"  CHINK,  CHINK,  CHINK  " — though  we  believe  a  somewhat 
similar  story  is  told  in  Germany  under  the  name  of  "  The 
Stone-cold  Heart." 

He  would  clasp  his  hands  together  and  strike  them  upon 
his  knee,  making  a  sound  like  the  jingling  of  silver  coin.  Any 
one  can  produce  this  curious  sound  by  the  same  action. 

"  Chink,  chink,  chink,"  he  would  say.  "  Do  you  hear  it  ? 
Chink,  chink,  chink.  Listen,  as  I  strike  my  hands  on  my 
knees.  Money  ?  Now  I  will  open  my  hands.  There  is  no 
money  in  them ;  it  was  fool's  gold,  all. 

"  There  lived  in  a  great  German  forest  a  poor  woodman. 
He  was  a  giant,  but  he  had  a  great  heart  and  a  willing 
arm,  and  he  worked  contentedly  for  many  years. 


PRAIRIE  ISLAND.  225 

"  One  day  lie  chanced  to  go  with  some  foresters  into  the 
city.  It  was  a  festival  day.  He  heard  the  jingle  of  money, 
just  like  that  "  (striking  his  clasped  hands  on  his  knee). 
"He  saw  what  money  would  buy.  He  thought  it  would 
buy  happiness.  He  did  not  know  that  it  was  fool's  gold, 
all. 

"  He  went  back  to  his  little  hut  in  the  forest  feeling  very 
unhappy.  His  wife  kissed  him  on  his  return,  and  his  chil- 
dren gathered  around  him  to  hear  him  tell  the  adventures  of 
the  day,  but  his  downcast  spirit  made  them  all  sad. 

"  '  What  has  happened  ? '  asked  his  wife.  '  You  always 
seemed  happy  until  to-night.' 

'"And  I  was  always  happy  until  to-day.  But  I  have 
seen  the  world  to-day,  and  now  I  want  that  which  will  buy 
everything.' 

"  *  And  what  is  that  ? '  asked  his  wife. 

" '  Listen !  It  sounds  like  that,'  and  he  struck  his  clasped 
hands  on  his  knee — chink,  chink,  chink.  '  If  I  had  that,  I 
would  bring  to  you  and  the  little  ones  the  fine  things  I  saw 
in  the  city,  and  you  would  be  happy.  You  are  contented 
now  because  you  do  not  know.' 

" '  But  I  would  rather  that  you  would  bring  to  me  a  happy 
face  and  loving  heart,'  said  his  wife.  'You  know  that  the 
Book  says  that  "  a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in  the  abundance 
of  the  things  which  he  possesseth."  Love  makes  happiness, 
and  gold  is  in  the  heart.' 

"  The  forester  continued  to  be  sad.  He  would  sit  outside 
of  his  door  at  early  evening  and  pound  his  hands  upon  his 
knees  so — chink,  chink,  chink — and  think  of  the  gay  city. 


226  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Then  he  would  strike  his  hands  on  his  knees  again.  He  did 
not  know  that  it  was  fool's  gold,  all. 

"  He  grew  more  and  more  discontented  with  his  simple  lot. 
One  day  he  went  out  into  the  forest  alone  to  cut  wood.  When 
he  had  become  tired  he  sat  down  by  a  running  stream  to  hear 
the  birds  sing  and  to  strike  his  hands  on  his  knees. 

"  A  shadow  came  gliding  across  the  mosses  of  the  stream. 
It  was  like  the  form  of  a  dark  man.  Slowly  it  came  on,  and 
as  it  did  so  the  flowers  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  withered. 
The  woodman  looked  up,  and  a  black  giant  stood  before  him. 

"  *  You  look  unhappy  to-day,'  said  the  black  giant.  '  You 
did  not  use  to  look  that  way.  What  is  wanting  ? ' 

"  The  woodman  looked  down,  clasped  his  hands,  and  struck 
them  on  his  knees — chink,  chink,  chink. 

" '  Ah,  I  see — money !  The  world  all  wants  money.  Selfish- 
ness could  not  thrive  without  money.  I  will  give  you  all  the 
money  that  you  want,  on  one  condition.' 

" '  Name  it.' 

" '  That  you  will  exchange  your  heart.' 

"  '  What  will  you  give  me  for  my  heart  ? ' 

" '  Your  heart  is  a  human  heart,  a  very  simple  human  heart. 
I  will  put  in  its  place  a  heart  of  stone,  and  then  all  your  wishes 
shall  turn  to  gold.  Whatever  you  wish  you  shall  have.' 

"'Shall  I  be  happy?' 

"  '  Happy !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  are  not  people  happy  who  have 
their  wishes  ? ' 

"  '  Some  are,  and  some  are  happy  who  give  up  their  wishes 
and  wills  and  desires." 

"  The  woodman  leaned  his  face  upon  his  hands  for  a  while, 


PRAIRIE  ISLAND.  227 

and  seemed  in  great  doubt  and  distress.  He  thought  of  his 
wife,  who  used  to  say  that  contentment  was  happiness,  and  that 
one  could  be  rich  by  having  a  few  wants.  Then  he  thought  of 
the  city.  The  vision  rose  before  him  like  a  Vanity  Fair.  He 
clasped  his  hands  again,  and  struck  them  on  his  knees — chink, 
chink,  chink — and  said,  '  I  will  do  it.' 

"  Suddenly  he  felt  a  heart  within  him  as  cold  as  stone.  He 
looked  up  to  the  giant,  and  saw  that  he  held  his  own  good,  true 
heart  in  his  hands. 

"  '  I  will  put  it  away  in  a  glass  jar  in  my  house,'  he  said, 
'  where  I  keep  the  hearts  of  the  rich.  Now,  listen.  You  have 
only  to  strike  your  locked  hands  on  your  knees  three  times — 
chink,  chink,  chink — whenever  you  want  for  gold,  and  wish, 
and  you  will  find  your  pockets  full  of  money.' 

"  The  woodman  struck  his  palms  on  his  knees  and  wished, 
then  felt  in  his  pockets.  Sure  enough,  his  pockets  were  full  of 
gold. 

"  He  thought  of  his  wife,  but  his  thought  was  a  cold  one  ; 
he  did  not  love  her  any  more.  He  thought  of  his  little  ones, 
but  his  thoughts  were  frozen ;  he  did  not  care  to  meet  them  any 
more.  He  thought  of  his  parents,  but  he  only  wished  to  meet 
them  to  excite  their  envy.  The  stream  no  longer  charmed 
him,  nor  the  flowers,  nor  the  birds,  nor  anything. 

"  '  I  will  dissemble,'  he  said.  He  hurried  home.  His  wife 
met  him  at  the  door.  He  kissed  her.  She  started  back,  and 
said : 

"  '  Your  lips  are  cold  as  death  !    What  has  happened? ' 

"  His  children  kissed  him,  but  they  said  : 

"  '  Father,  your  cheeks  are  cold.' 


228  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  He  tried  to  pray  at  the  meal,  but  his  sense  of  God  was 
gone ;  he  did  not  love  God,  or  his  wife,  or  his  children,  or  any- 
thing any  more — he  had  a  stone-cold  heart. 

"  After  the  evening  meal  he  told  his  wife  the  events  of  the 
day.  She  listened  with  horror. 

" '  In  parting  with  your  heart  you  have  parted  with  every- 
thing that  makes  life  worth  having,'  said  she.  But  he  an- 
swered : 

"  '  I  do  not  care.  I  do  not  care  for  anything  but  gold  now. 
I  have  a  stone-cold  heart.' 

" '  But  will  gold  make  you  happy  ? '  she  asked. 

"  He  started.  He  went  forth  to  work  the  next  day,  but  he 
was  not  happy.  So  day  by  day  passed.  His  gold  did  not  make 
his  family  happy,  or  his  friends,  or  any  one,  but  he  would  not 
have  cared  for  all  these,  for  he  had  a  stone-cold  heart.  Had  it 
made  him  happy?  He  saw  the  world  all  happy  around  him, 
and  heavier  and  heavier  grew  his  heart,  and  at  last  he  could 
endure  it  no  longer. 

"  One  day  he  was  sitting  in  the  same  place  in  the  woods  as 
before,  when  he  saw  the  shadowy  figure  stealing  along  the 
mosses  of  the  stream  again.  He  looked  up  and  beheld  the 
giant,  and  exclaimed : 

"  '  Give  me  back  my  heart ! ' " 

"  Have  you  learned  the  lesson  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  INDIAN  PLOT. 

sultry  August  night  a  party  of  Sac  and  Fox 
Indians  were  encamped  in  a  grove  of  oaks  op- 
posite Rock  Island,  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Mississippi.  Among  them  were  Main-Pogue 
and  Waubeno. 

The  encampment  commanded  a  view  of  the  burial  hills  and 
bluffs  of  the  abandoned  Sac  village. 

As  the  shadow  of  night  stole  over  the  warm,  glimmering 
twilight,  and  the  stars  came  out,  the  lights  in  the  settlers' 
cabins  began  to  shine ;  and  as  the  Indians  saw  them  one  by 
one,  their  old  resentment  against  the  settlers  rose  and  bitter 
words  passed,  and  an  old  warrior  stood  up  to  rehearse  his 
memories  of  the  injustice  that  his  race  had  suffered  in  the  old 
treaties  and  the  late  war. 

"Look,"  he  said,  "at  the  eyes  of  the  cabins  that  gleam 
from  yonder  shore.  The  waters  roll  dark  under  them,  but  the 
lights  of  the  canoes  no  more  haunt  the  rapids,  and  the  women 
and  children  may  no  more  sit  down  by  the  graves  of  the  braves 
of  old.  Our  lights  have  gone  out ;  their  lights  shine.  Their 
lights  shine  on  the  bluffs,  and  they  twinkle  like  fireflies  along 
the  prairies,  and  climb  the  cliffs  in  what  was  once  the  Red 

(229) 


230  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Man's  Paradise.      Like  the  fireflies  to  the  night  the  white 
settlers  came. 

"  Rise  up  and  look  down  into  the  water.  There — where  the 
stream  runs  dark — they  shot  our  starving  women  there,  for 
crossing  the  river  to  harvest  their  own  corn. 

"  Look  again — there  where  the  first  star  shines.  She, 
the  wife  of  Wabono,  floated  there  dead,  with  the  babe  on  her 
breast.  Here  is  the  son  of  Wabono. 

"  Son  of  "Wabono,  you  ride  the  pony  like  the  winds.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  to  avenge  your  mother  ?  You  have  nour- 
ished the  babe ;  you  are  good  and  brave ;  but  the  moons  rise 
and  fall,  and  the  lights  grow  many  on  the  prairie,  and  the 
smoke-wreaths  many  along  the  shore.  Speak,  son  of  Wa- 
bono." 

A  tall  boy  arose,  dressed  in  yellow  skins  and  painted  and 
plumed. 

"  Father,  it  is  long  since  the  rain  fell." 

"  Long." 

"  And  the  prairies  are  yellow." 

"  Yellow." 

"  And  they  are  food  for  fire." 

"  Food  for  fire." 

"  I  would  touch  them  with  fire — in  the  east,  in  the  west,  in 
the  north,  and  in  the  south.  The  lights  will  go  out  in  the 
cabins,  and  the  white  woman  will  wander  homeless,  and  the 
white  man  will  hunger  for  corn.  They  shot  our  people  for 
harvesting  our  corn.  I  would  give  their  corn-fields  to  the 
flames,  and  their  families  to  the  famine  in  the  moons  of 
storms." 


THE  INDIAN  PLOT.  231 

"Waubeno,  you  have  heard  "Wabono.  What  would  you 
do?" 

"  I  would  punish  those  only  who  have  done  wrong.  The 
white  teacher  taught  so,  and  the  white  teacher  was  right." 

"  Waubeno,  you  speak  like  a  woman." 

"  Those  people  should  not  suffer  for  what  others  have  done. 
You  should  not  be  made  to  bear  the  punishments  of  others." 

"  Would  you  not  fire  the  prairies  ?  " 

"No.  I  may  have  friends  there.  The  Tunker  may  be 
there.  He  who  spared  Maiu-Pogue  may  be  there.  Would  I 
burn  their  cabins  ?  No  ! " 

"  Waubeno,  who  was  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  son  of  Alknomook." 

«  He  died." 

"Yes,  father." 

"There  was  neither  pity  nor  mercy  in  the  white  man's 
heart  for  him.  You  made  your  vow  to  him.  What  was  that 
vow,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"  To  avenge  his  enemies — not  our  friends." 

"  Brothers,  listen.  The  white  men  grow  many,  and  we  are 
few.  In  war  we  are  helpless — only  one  weapon  remains  to  us 
now.  It  is  the  thunderbolt — it  is  fire. 

"  Warriors,  listen.  The  moon  grows.  Who  of  you  will 
cross  the  river  and  ride  once  more  into  the  Eed  Man's  Paradise, 
and  give  the  prairies  to  the  flames  ?  The  torch  is  all  that  is 
left  us  now." 

Every  Indian  raised  his  arm  except  Main-Pogue  and  Wau- 
beno, and  signified  his  desire  to  unite  in  the  plan  for  the  deso- 
lation of  the  prairies. 
16 


232  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"Main-Pogue,  will  you  carry  your  torch  in  the  night  of 
fire?" 

"  I  have  been  saved  by  the  hand  of  a  white  man,  and  I  will 
not  turn  my  hand  against  the  white  man.  I  could  not  do  it  if 
I  were  young.  But  I  am  old — my  people  are  gone.  Leave  me 
to  fall  like  the  leaf." 

"  Son  of  Alknomook,  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  will  follow  your  counsel  for  my  father's  sake,  but  I  will 
spare  my  friends  for  the  sake  of  the  arm  that  was  stretched 
out  over  the  head  of  Main-Pogue." 

"  Then  you  will  go." 

"  I  would  that  I  were  dead.  I  would  that  I  could  live  as 
the  white  teacher  taught  me — in  peace  with  every  one.  I  would 
that  I  had  not  this  blood  of  fire,  and  this  memory  of  darkness, 
and  this  vow  upon  my  head.  The  white  teacher  taught  me 
that  all  people  were  brothers.  My  brain  burns — " 

Late  in  the  evening  "Waubeno  went  to  Main-Pogue  and 
sat  down  by  his  side  under  the  trees.  The  river  lay  before 
them  with  its  green  islands  and  rapid  currents,  serene  and 
beautiful.  The  lights  had  gone  out  on  the  other  shore,  and 
the  world  seemed  strangely  voiceless  and  still. 

"  How  did  he  look,  Waubeno  ?  " 

"Who  look?" 

"  That  man  who  saved  you — stretched  his  arm  over  you." 

"  His  arm  was  long.  His  face  was  as  sad  as  an  Indian's ; 
and  he  was  tall.  He  was  a  head  taller  than  other  men;  he 
rose  over  them  like  an  oak  over  the  trees.  The  men  laughed  at 
him ;  then  his  face  looked  as  though  it  was  set  against  the 
people — he  looked  like  a  chief — and  the  men  cowered,  and 


THE  INDIAN  PLOT.  233 

jeered,  and  cowered.  I  can  see  how  he  looked,  but  I  can  not 
tell  it — I  can  see  it  in  my  mind.  I  told  him  that  I  would  tell 
Waubeno,  and  he  seemed  to  know  your  name.  Did  you  never 
meet  such  a  man  ?  " 

"Yes,  in  the  Indiana  country.  He  was  journeyed  from 
the  Wabash." 

The  Indians,  after  the  council  we  have  described,  began  to 
cross  the  Mississippi  by  night,  and  to  make  stealthy  journeys 
into  the  Eock  River  country,  once  known  as  the  Eed  Man's 
Paradise.  Eock  Eiver  is  a  beautiful  stream  of  the  prairies. 
It  comes  dashing  out  of  a  bed  of  rocks,  and  runs  a  distance 
of  some  two  hundred  miles  to  the  Mississippi.  Here  once 
roamed  the  deer  and  came  the  wild  cattle  in  herds.  Here 
rose  great  cliffs,  like  ruins  of  castles,  which  were  then,  as 
now,  cities  of  the  swallows.  Eagles  built  their  nests  upon 
them,  and  wheeled  from  over  the  flowers  of  the  prairies.  The 
banks  in  summer  were  lined  with  wild  strawberries  and  wild 
sunflowers.  Here  and  there  were  natural  mounds  and  park- 
like  woods,  and  oaks  whose  arms  were  tangled  with  grape- 
vines. 

Into  this  country  ran  Black  Hawk's  trail,  and  not  far  from 
this  trail  was  Prairie  Island,  with  its  happy  settlers  and  new 
school.  The  German  school-master  might  well  love  the  place. 
Margaret  Fuller  (Countess  Ossoli)  came  to  the  region  in  1843, 
and  caught  its  atmosphere  and  breathed  it  forth  in  her  Sum- 
mer in  the  Lakes.  Here,  in  this  territory  of  the  Eed  Man's 
Paradise,  "  to  me  enchanting  beyond  any  I  have  ever  seen," 
where  "  you  have  only  to  turn  up  the  sod  to  find  arrow-heads," 
she  visited  the  bluff  of  the  Eagles'  Nest  on  the  morning  of  the 


234:  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

Fourth  of  July,  and  there  wrote  "Ganymede  to  his  Eagle," 
one  of  her  grandest  poems. 

"  How  happy,"  says  this  gifted  soul,  "  the  Indians  must  have 
been  here !  I  do  believe  Rome  and  Florence  are  suburbs  com- 
pared to  this  capital  of  Nature's  art." 

Black  Hawk's  trail  ran  from  this  region  of  perfect  beauty  to 
the  Mississippi ;  and  long  after  the  Sacs  and  Foxes  were  com- 
pelled to  live  beyond  the  Mississippi,  the  remnants  of  the 
tribes  loved  to  return  and  visit  the  scenes  of  the  land  of  their 
fathers. 

The  Indians  who  had  plotted  the  firing  of  the  prairies  made 
two  stealthy  journeys  along  the  Rock  River  and  over  the  old 
trail  under  the  August  moon.  In  one  of  these  they  rode  round 
Prairie  Island,  and  encamped  one  night  upon  the  bluff  of  the 
Eagles'  Nest,  under  the  moon  and  stars.  Waubeno  went  with 
them,  and  gazed  with  sad  eyes  upon  the  scenes  that  had  passed 
forever  from  the  control  of  his  people. 

He  saw  the  new  cabins  and  corn-fields,  the  prairie  wagons 
and  the  emigrants.  One  evening  he  passed  Prairie  Island,  and 
saw  the  lights  glimmering  among  the  trees,  and  heard  the  sing- 
ing of  a  hymn  in  the  school-house,  where  the  people  had  met 
to  worship.  He  wished  that  his  own  people  might  be  taught 
these  better  ways  of  living.  He  reined  up  his  pony  and  listened 
to  the  singing.  He  wished  that  he  might  join  the  little  com- 
pany, though  he  did  not  know  that  Jasper  was  there. 

He  rode  away  amid  the  stacks  and  corn-fields.  He  saw  that 
the  fields  were  dry  as  powder. 

Out  on  the  prairie  he  turned  and  looked  back  on  the  lights 
of  the  settlement  as  they  glimmered  among  the  trees.  Could 


THE  INDIAN  PLOT.  235 

he  apply  the  torch  to  the  dry  sea  of  grasses  around  the  peace- 
ful homes? 

Once,  revenge  would  have  made  it  a  delight  to  his  eyes  to  see 
such  a  settlement  in  flames.  But  Jasper's  teaching  had  created 
a  new  view  of  life  and  a  new  conscience.  He  felt  what  the 
Tunker  taught  was  true,  and  that  the  young  soldier  who  had 
spared  Main-Pogue  had  done  a  nobler  deed  than  any  act  of 
revenge.  What  was  that  young  man's  motive  ?  He  pondered 
over  these  things,  and  gave  his  pony  a  loose  rein,  and  rode  on 
under  the  cool  cover  of  the  night  under  the  moon  and  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE. 

HE  prairie  is  on  fire ! "    So  cried  a  horseman, 
as  he  rode  by  the  school. 

It  was  a  calm,  glimmering  September  day. 
Prairie  Island  rose  with  red  and  yellow  and 
crisping  leaves,  like  a  royal  tent  amid  a  dead 
sea  of  flowers.  The  prairie  grass  was  dry,  though  still  mingled 
with  a  green  undergrowth.  Prairie  chickens  were  everywhere, 
quails,  and  plover. 

At  midday  a  billowy  cloud  of  smoke  began  to  wall  the  east- 
ern horizon,  and  it  slowly  rolled  forward,  driven  by  the  current 
of  the  air. 

"  0-o-oh  !  "  said  one  of  the  scholars !  "  Look !  look !  "What 
the  man  said  is  true — the  prairie  is  on  fire  ! " 

Jasper  went  to  the  door.  The  blue  sky  had  turned  to  an 
ashy  hue,  and  the  sun  was  a  dull  red.  An  unnatural  wind  had 
arisen  like  a  draft  of  air. 

"Teacher,  can  we  go  out  and  look?"  asked  several  voices. 
"  Yes,"  said  Jasper,  "  the  school  may  take  a  recess." 
The  pupils  went  to  the  verge  of  the  trees,  and  watched  the 
billowy  columns  of  smoke  in  the  distance. 

The  world  seemed  to  change.     The  air  filled  with  flocks  of 

(236) 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  237 

frightened  birds.  The  sky  became  veiled,  and  the  sun  was  as 
red  as  blood. 

Since  the  great  snow  of  1830  but  few  buffaloes  had  been  seen 
on  the  prairie.  But  a  dark  cloud  of  flesh  came  bounding  over 
the  prairie  grass,  bellowing,  with  low  heads  and  erect  tails.  The 
children  thought  that  they  were  cattle  at  first,  but  they  were 
buffaloes.  They  rushed  toward  the  trees  of  Prairie  Island, 
turned,  and  looked  behind.  Then  the  leader  pawed  the  earth, 
and  the  herd  rushed  on  toward  the  north. 

The  fire  spread  in  a  semicircle,  and  seemed  to  create  a  wind 
which  impelled  it  on  with  resistless  fury. 

"  0-o-oh,  look  !  look  !  "  exclaimed  another  scholar.  "  See 
the  horses  and  the  cattle — droves  of  them !  Look  at  the  sky — 
see  the  birds  ! " 

There  were  droves  of  cattle  hurrying  in  every  direction. 
The  men  in  the  fields  near  Prairie  Island  came  hurrying 
home. 

"  The  prairie  is  on  fire  ! "  said  each  one,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  say. 

"  Will  it  reach  us  ?  "  asked  Jasper  of  the  harvesters. 

"  What  is  to  hinder  it  ?  The  wind  is  driving  it  this  way. 
It  has  formed  a  wall  of  fire  that  almost  surrounds  us." 

"What  can  we  do?"  asked  Jasper.  The  harvesters  con- 
sidered. 

"  We  are  safer  here  than  elsewhere,  let  what  will  come,"  said 
one.  "  If  the  fire  sweeps  the  prairie,  it  would  overtake  us  be- 
fore we  could  get  to  any  great  river,  and  the  small  creeks  are 
dry." 

The  afternoon  grew  darker  and  darker.     The  sun  went  out ; 


238  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

under  the  black  smoke  rolled  a  red  sea  whose  waves  grew 
nearer  and  nearer.  The  children  began  to  cry  and  the  women 
to  pray.  An  old  man  came  hobbling  out  to  the  arch  of  the 
trees. 

"  I  foretold  it,"  said  he.  "  The  world  is  on  fire.  The  Day 
of  Judgment  has  come !  A  time  and  times  time,  and  a  half." 

He  had  been  a  Millerite. 

"  It  will  be  here  in  an  hour,"  said  a  harvester. 

But  there  arose  a  counter- wind.  The  wall  of  fire  seemed 
to  be  stayed.  The  smoke  columns  rose  to  the  heavens  like 
Babel  towers. 

Afar,  families  were  seen  fleeing  on  horseback  toward  the 
bed  of  a  creek  which  they  hoped  to  find  flowing,  but  which 
had  run  dry. 

"  This  is  awful ! "  said  Jasper.  "  It  looks  as  though  the 
heavens  were  in  flames." 

He  shaded  his  hands  and  looked  into  the  open  space. 

"What  is  that?  "he  asked. 

A  black  horse  came  running  toward  the  island,  bounding 
through  the  grass  as  though  impelled  by  spurs.  As  he  leered, 
Jasper  saw  the  form  of  a  human  being  stretched  at  his  side. 
Was  the  form  an  Indian  ? 

On  came  the  horse.  He  leered  again,  exposing  to  view  a 
yellow  body  and  a  plumed  head. 

"  It's  an  Indian,"  said  Jasper. 

The  fire  flattened  and  darkened  for  a  time,  and  then  rolled 
on  again.  Animals  were  fleeing  everywhere,  plunging  and 
bellowing,  and  the  air  was  wild  and  tempestuous  with  the  cries 
of  birds.  The  little  animals  could  be  seen  leaping  out  of  the 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  239 

prairie  grass.  The  earth,  air,  and  sky  seemed  alive  with  ter- 
ror. 

The  black  horse  came  plunging  toward  the  island. 

"  How  can  a  horse  run  that  way  and  live  ?  "  asked  Jasper. 
"  He  is  bearing  a  messenger.  It  is  friendly  or  hostile  Indian 
that  is  clinging  to  his  side." 

Jasper  bent  his  eyes  on  the  plunging  animal  to  see  him 
leer,  for  whenever  the  sidling  motion  was  made  it  brought  to 
view  the  tawny  horizontal  form  that  seemed  to  be  clinging  to 
the  bridle,  as  if  riding  for  life.  Suddenly  there  arose  a  cry 
from  the  islanders : 

"  Look !  look  !  Who  has  done  it  ?  There  is  a  counter-fire 
ahead.  They  will  all  perish  ! " 

A  mile  or  more  in  front  of  the  island,  and  in  the  opposite 
direction  from  the  other  fire,  another  great  billow  of  smoke 
arose  spirally  into  the  air.  The  people  and  animals  who  had 
been  fleeing  toward  the  creek,  which  they  thought  contained 
water,  but  which  was  dry,  all  turned  and  came  running  toward 
the  island  grove.  Even  the  birds  came  beating  back. 

"  That  fire  was  set  by  the  Indians,"  said  the  harvesters.  "  It 
is  started  across  the  track  of  the  other  fire  to  destroy  us  all. 
An  Indian  set  the  fires." 

"  That  is  an  Indian  skirting  around  us  on  the  back  of  a 
horse,"  said  another.  "  He  is  holding  on  to  the  horse  by  the 
mane  with  his  hands,  and  by  the  flanks  with  his  feet.  The 
Indians  have  done  this  ! " 

"  The  other  fire  will  run  back,  though  against  the  wind. 
The  prairie  is  so  dry  that  the  fire  will  run  everywhere.  We 
must  set  a  counter-fire." 


240  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"Set  a  counter-fire  ! "  exclaimed  many  voices. 

The  purpose  of  the  counter-fire  was  to  destroy  the  dry  grass, 
so  that  when  the  other  fires  should  reach  the  place  it  would 
find  nothing  to  burn. 

"But  the  people!"  said  Jasper.  "See  them!  They  are 
hurrying  here  ;  a  counter-fire  would  drive  them  away  ! " 

An  awful  scene  followed.  Horses,  cattle,  animals  of  many 
kinds  came  panting  to  the  island.  Many  of  them  had  been 
fleeing  for  miles,  and  sank  down  under  the  trees  as  if  ready  to 
perish.  There  was  one  enormous  bison  among  them.  The  tops 
of  the  trees  filled  were  with  birds,  cawing  and  uttering  a  chaos 
of  cries.  The  air  seemed  to  rain  birds,  and  the  earth  to  pour 
forth  animals.  The  sky  above  turned  to  inky  blackness.  Men, 
women,  and  children  came  rushing  into  the  trees  from  every 
direction,  some  crying  on  Heaven  for  mercy,  some  begging 
for  water,  all  of  them  exhausted  and  seemingly  ready  to  die. 
The  island  grove  was  like  a  great  funeral  pyre. 

Jasper  lifted  his  hands  and  called  the  school  and  the  people 
around  him,  knelt  down,  and  prayed  for  help  amid  the  cries  of 
distress  that  rose  on  every  hand.  He  then  looked  for  the  black 
horse  and  the  plumed  rider  again. 

They  were  drawing  near  in  the  darkening  air.  The  figure 
of  the  rider  was  more  distinct.  The  people  saw  it,  and  cried, 
"  An  Indian  !  "  Some  said,  "  It  is  a  scout ! "  and  others,  "  It  is 
he  who  set  the  fire !  " 

The  wind  rose  and  changed,  caused  by  the  heated  air  in  the 
distance.  The  currents  ran  hither  and  thither  like  drafts 
in  a  room  of  open  doors.  One  of  these  unnatural  drafts  caused 
a  new  terror  to  spread  among  the  people  and  animals  and 


IWni^pM'c- 


THE  APPROACH  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS  INDIAN. 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  241 

birds.  It  drew  up  into  the  air  a  great  column  of  sparks  and, 
scattered  them  through  the  open  space,  and  a  rain  of  fire  filled 
the  sky  and  descended  upon  the  grove. 

It  was  a  splendid  but  terrible  sight. 

"  The  end  of  all  things  is  at  hand,"  said  the  old  Millerite. 
"  The  stars  are  beginning  to  fall." 

But  the  rain  of  fire  lost  its  force  as  it  neared  the  earth,  and 
it  fell  in  cinders  and  ashes. 

"  An  Indian  !  an  Indian  ! "  cried  many  voices. 

The  black  horse  came  plunging  into  near  view,  and  rushed 
for  the  trees  and  sank  down  with  foaming  sides  and  mouth. 
The  people  shouted.  There  rolled  from  his  side  the  lithe  and 
supple  form  of  a  young  Indian,  plumed,  and  dressed  in  yellow 
buckskin.  What  did  it  mean  ?  The  Indian  lay  on  the  ground 
like  one  dead.  The  people  gathered  around  him,  and  Jasper 
came  to  him  and  bent  over  him,  and  parted  the  black  hair  from 
his  face.  Suddenly  Jasper  started  back  and  uttered  a  cry. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  people. 

"  It  is  my  old  Indian  guide — it  is  Waubeno.  Bring  him 
water,  and  we  will  revive  him,  and  he  will  tell  us  what  to  do. 
— Waubeno  !  Waubeno  !  " 

The  Indian  seemed  to  know  that  voice.  He  revived,  and 
looked  around  him,  and  stared  at  the  people. 

"  Give  him  water,"  said  Jasper. 

A  boy  brought  a  cup  of  water  and  offered  it  to  the  Indian. 
The  latter  started  up,  and  cried : 

"  Away !  I  am  here  to  die  among  you.  My  tongue  burns, 
but  I  did  not  come  here  to  drink.  I  came  here  to  die.  The 
white  man  killed  my  father,  and  I  have  come  back  with  the 


24:2  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

avengers,  and  we  have  brought  with  us  the  Judgment  Day." 
He  stood  and  listened  to  the  cries  of  distress. 

"  Hear  the  trees  cry  for  help — all  the  birds  of  the  prairie — 
but  they  cry  for  naught.  My  father  hears  them  cry.  The  cry 
is  sweet  to  his  ears.  He  is  waiting  for  me.  We  are  all  about 
to  die.  When  the  wheat-fields  blaze  and  the  stacks  take  fire, 
and  the  houses  crackle,  then  we  shall  all  die.  So  says  Waube- 
no."  He  listened  again. 

"  Hear  the  earth  cry — all  the  animals.  My  father  hears — 
his  soul  hears.  This  is  the  day  that  I  have  carried  in  my  soul. 
My  spirit  is  in  the  fire." 

He  listened  again.  The  prairie  roared  with  the  hot  air, 
the  flames,  and  the  clouds  of  smoke.  There  fell  another  rain 
of  fire,  and  women  shrieked  for  mercy,  and  children  cried  on 
their  mothers'  breasts. 

"  Hear  the  people  cry !  I  have  waited  for  that  cry  for  a 
hundred  moons.  I  have  paid  my  vow.  We  have  kindled  the 
fire  of  the  anger  of  the  heavens — it  is  coming.  I  will  die  with 
you  like  the  son  of  a  warrior.  The  souls  of  the  warriors  are 
gathering  to  see  me  die.  I  am  Waubeno." 

The  people  pressed  upon  him,  and  glared  at  him. 

"  He  set  the  fire ! "  they  cried.     "  The  Indian  fiend  !  " 

"  I  set  the  fire,"  he  said  ;  "  I  and  Black  Hawk's  men. 
They  have  escaped.  I  have  done  my  work,  and  I  want  to 
die." 

Jasper  lifted  his  hat,  and  with  bared  head  stood  forth  in  the 
view  of  the  Indian. 

"  Waubeno,  do  you  want  to  see  me  die? " 

He  started  with  a  cry  of  pain.     His  eyes  burned. 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  243 

"  My  father — I  did  not  know  that  you  were  here.  Heaven 
pity  Waubeno  now ! " 

"  Waubeno,  this  is  cruel ! " 

"  Cruel  ?  This  country  was  once  called  the  Red  Man's  Para- 
dise. Cruel  ?  The  white  man  made  the  red  man  drunk  with 
fire-water,  and  made  him  sign  a  false  treaty,  and  then  drove 
him  away.  Cruel  ?  Think  of  the  women  the  whites  shot  in 
the  river  for  coming  back  to  their  own  corn-fields  starving  to 
gather  their  own  corn.  Cruel  ?  Why  is  the  Eed  Man's  Para- 
dise no  longer  ours?  Cruel?  The  Rock  River  flows  for  us 
no  more;  the  spring  brings  the  flowers  to  these  prairies  for 
us  no  more ;  the  bluff  rises  in  the  summer  sky,  but  the  red 
man  may  no  longer  sit  upon  it.  Cruel?  Think  how  your 
people  murdered  my  father.  Is  it  more  cruel  for  the  Indian 
to  do  these  things  than  for  the  white  man  to  do  them  ?  You 
have  emptied  the  Red  Man's  Paradise,  and  Waubeno  has  ful- 
filled the  vow  that  he  made  to  his  father.  The  clouds  are  on 
fire.  I  would  have  saved  you  had  I  known,  but  you  must 
perish  with  your  people.  I  shall  die  with  you.  I  am  Waubeno. 
I  am  proud  to  be  Waubeno.  I  am  the  avenger  of  my  race. 

"  But,  white  brother,  listen.  I  tried  to  prevent  it.  I  re- 
membered your  teaching,  and  I  tried  to  prevent  it  by  our 
council-fires  over  the  Mississippi.  Main-Pogue  tried  to  pre- 
vent it.  I  thought  of  the  man  who  saved  him  in  the  war,  and 
I  wondered  who  he  was,  and  tried  to  prevent  it  for  his  sake. 

"  Then  said  they  to  me  :  *  We  go  to  avenge  the  loss  of  our 
country,  the  Red  Man's  Paradise.  The  grass  is  feathers.  We 
go  to  burn.  Waubeno,  remember  your  father's  death.  You 
are  the  son  of  Alknomook ! ' 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

"  White  brother,  I  have  come.  I  tried  to  "prevent  it,  but 
this  hand  has  obeyed  the  voice  of  my  people.  I  have  kindled 
the  fires  of  the  woe.  The  world  is  on  fire.  I  tried  to  prevent 
it,  but  it  has  come." 

"  Waubeno,  do  you  remember  Lincoln  9  " 

"Lincoln?  The  Indians  killed  his  father's  father.  I  have 
often  thought  of  that.  He  said  that  he  would  do  right  by  an 
Indian.  I  have  thought  of  that.  I  love  that  man.  I  would 
die  for  such  a  man." 

"  Waubeno,  who  saved  the  life  of  Main-Pogue  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  father.     I  would  die  for  that  man." 

"  Did  Main-Pogue  not  tell  you  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  'twas  a  white  captain  saved  him.  Is  the  white 
captain  here  ?  " 

"  No.    Waubeno,  listen.     That  white  captain  was  Lincoln." 

"  Lincoln  ?  Whose  father's  father  the  red  man  killed  ?  Was 
it  he  who  saved  Main-Pogue  ?  Lincoln  ?  He  forced  his  men 
to  do  right.  He  did  himself  harm." 

"  Yes,  he  did  himself  harm  to  do  right.  Waubeno,  do  you 
remember  your  promise  that  you  made  to  me  ?  You  said  that 
you  would  never  avenge  the  death  of  your  father,  if  you  could 
find  one  white  man  who  would  do  himself  harm  for  the  sake 
of  an  Indian." 

Waubeno  leaped  upon  his  feet,  and  his  black  eye  swept  the 
clouds,  and  the  circle  of  fire,  and  the  distressed  people  on  every 
hand. 

"  Father,  I  can  save  you  now.  I  know  how.  I  will  do  it 
for  Lincoln's  sake" 

"  Ho  !  ho  ! "  he  cried.     "  Kill  me  an  ox,  and  Waubeno  will 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  245 

save  you.  Kill  me  six  oxen,  and  Waubeno  will  save  you.  Give 
me  raw  hides,  and  do  as  I  do,  and  Waubeno  will  save  you.  Ho ! 
ho  !  The  gods  have  spoken  to  Waubeno.  A  voice  comes  from 
the  sky  to  Waubeno.  It  has  spoken  here.  Ho  !  ho ! " 

He  put  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  then  rushed  in  among  the 
oxen.  A  company  of  men  followed  him. 

He  slew  an  ox  with  his  knife,  and  quickly  removed  the  hide. 
The  people  looked  upon  him  with  horror ;  they  thought  him  de- 
mented. What  was  he  doing  ?  What  was  he  going  to  do  ? 

He  tied  the  great  hide  to  his  horse's  neck,  so  that  the  raw 
side  of  it  would  drag  flat  upon  the  ground,  and,  turning  to 
Jasper,  he  said : 

"  That  will  smother  fire.     Ho !  ho  !    How  ?  " 

The  fire  was  fast  approaching  some  stacks  of  wheat  on  the 
edge  of  the  settlement.  Waubeno  saw  the  peril,  and  leaped 
upon  his  horse. 

"  Kill  more  cattle.     Get  more  hides  for  Waubeno/'  he  said. 

He  rode  away  toward  the  stacks,  guiding  the  horse  in  such 
a  way  that  the  raw  hide  swept  the  ground.  The  people  watched 
him.  He  seemed  to  ride  into  the  fire. 

"  He  is  riding  to  death  ! "  said  the  people.     "  He  is  mad  !  " 

But  as  he  rode  the  fire  was  stayed,  and  a  rim  of  black  smoke 
rose  in  its  stead.  Near  the  stacks  the  fire  stopped. 

"  He  is  the  Evil  One  himself,"  said  the  old  Millerite.  "  That 
Indian  boy  is  no  human  form. " 

Out  of  the  black  came  the  horse  plunging,  bearing  the  boy* 
who  waved  his  hands  to  the  people.  Then  the  horse  plunged 
away,  as  though  wild,  toward  the  outer  edge  of  the  great  sea  of 
fire. 


246  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

The  horse  and  rider  rushed  into  the  flames,  and  the  same 
strange  effects  followed.  The  running  flame  and  white  cloud 
changed  into  black  smoke,  and  the  destruction  was  arrested. 

The  people  watched  the  boy  as  he  rode  half  hidden  in  roll- 
ing smoke,  his  red  plumes  waving  above  the  verge  of  the  flam- 
ing sea.  What  a  scene  it  was  as  he  rode  there,  round  and  round, 
like  the  enchanted  form  of  a  more  than  human  deliverer !  But 
the  effect  of  his  movements  at  last  ceased. 

"  He  is  coming  back,"  said  the  people. 

Out  of  the  fire  rushed  the  horse  and  rider  toward  the  island 
grove  again. 

"  Give  me  new  hides ! "  he  cried,  as,  singed  and  blackened, 
he  swept  into  the  trees.  "  The  hide  is  dead  and  shriveled. 
Give  me  new  hides.  Ho !  ho ! " 

New  hides  were  provided  by  killing  oxen.  He  tied  two  to- 
gether like  a  carpet,  with  the  raw  side  upon  the  earth.  He 
attached  them  by  a  long  rope  to  the  horse's  neck,  and  dashed 
forth  again,  crying : 

"  Do  the  same,  and  follow  me." 

The  horse  seemed  maddened  again.  It  flew  toward  the  fire 
as  if  drawn  by  a  spell,  and  plunged  into  it  like  a  bather  into 
the  sea.  Waubeno  tried  to  deaden  the  fire  in  the  whole  circle. 
Kound  and  round  the  island  he  rode,  in  the  tide  of  the  advanc- 
ing flames.  The  people  understood  his  method  now,  and  the 
men  secured  new  hides  and  attached  them  to  horses,  and  fol- 
lowed him.  He  led  them,  crying  and  waving  his  hands. 
Round  and  round  he  led  them,  round  and  round,  and  where 
they  rode  the  white  smoke  changed  into  black  smoke  and  the 
fire  died. 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  247 

The  people  secured  raw  hides  by  killing  the  poor  cattle,  and 
came  out  to  the  verge  of  the  fiery  sea  and  checked  the  progress 
of  the  flames  in  places.  In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  a  roll 
of  thunder  was  heard  in  the  sky. 

"  'Tis  the  trumpet  of  doom,"  said  the  old  Millerite. 

The  people  heard  it  with  terror,  and  yet  with  hope.  It 
might  be  an  approaching  shower.  If  it  were,  they  were 
saved. 

The  fire  in  front  of  them  was  checked.  Not  the  great  sea, 
but  the  current  that  was  rolling  toward  the  island  grove.  The 
fire  at  the  north  was  rushing  forward,  but  it  moved  backward 
toward  the  place  slowly.  The  women  began  to  soak  blankets 
and  clothing  in  water,  and  so  prepared  to  help  the  men  fight 
the  flames.  An  hour  passed.  In  the  midst  of  the  crisis  the 
„  riding  men,  the  hurrying  women,  the  encircling  fire,  the  bil- 
lows of  smoke,  a  flame  came  zigzagging  down  from  the  sky. 
The  people  stood  still.  Had  the  last  day  indeed  come  ? 

Then  followed  a  crash  of  thunder  that  shook  the  earth. 
The  people  fell  upon  their  knees.  The  sky  darkened,  and 
great  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall. 

Waubeno  had  checked  the  current  of  the  flame  that  would 
have  destroyed  the  settlement  in  an  hour,  and  had  taught  the 
men  how  to  arrest  an  advancing  tide  of  flame.  The  people 
began  to  have  hope.  All  was  now  activity  on  the  part  of  the 
people.  Smoke  filled  the  sky. 

"  There  is  a  cloud  above  the  smoke,"  said  many.  "  God 
will  save  us  all." 

Waubeno  came  flying  back  again  to  the  grove. 

"  It  thunders,"  he  cried.  "  The  Bain-god  is  coming.  If  I 
17 


248  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

can  keep  back    the    fire  an  hour,  the  Eain-god  will  come. 
Hides !  hides !    Quick,  more  hides !    Ho  !  ho ! " 

New  hides  were  provided,  and  he  swept  forth  again. 

The  island  grove  was  now  like  a  vast  oven.  The  air  was 
stifling.  The  animals  laid  down  and  rolled  their  tongues  from 
their  mouths.  But  the  fire  in  front  did  not  advance.  It 
seemed  deadened.  The  river  of  flame  forked  and  ran  in  other 
directions,  but  it  was  stayed  in  front  of  the  grove,  houses,  corn- 
fields, and  stacks,  and  it  was  the  hand  that  had  set  flames  that 
had  broken  its  force  in  the  road  to  the  settlements. 

There  were  sudden  dashes  of  rain,  and  the  smoke  turned 
into  blackness  everywhere.  Another  flash  of  lightning  smote 
the  gloom,  followed  by  a  rattling  of  thunder  that  seemed  as  if 
the  spirit  of  the  storm  was  driving  his  chariot  through  the  air. 
Then  it  poured  as  though  a  lake  was  coming  down.  In  an , 
hour  the  fire  was  dead.  The  cloud  parted,  the  slanting  sun 
came  out,  revealing  a  prairie  as  black  as  ink. 

The  people  fled  to  the  shelter  of  the  houses  and  sheds  at  the 
approach  of  the  rain.  The  animals  crowded  under  the  trees, 
and  the  birds  hid  in  the  boughs.  After  the  rain-burst  the 
people  gathered  together  again,  and  each  one  asked  ; 

"  "Where  is  the  Indian  boy  ?  " 

He  was  not  among  them. 

Had  he  perished  ? 

A  red  sunset  flamed  over  the  prairies  and  the  birds  filled 
the  tree-tops  with  the  gladness  of  song.  It  seemed  to  all  as  if 
the  earth  and  sky  had  come  back  again. 

In  the  glare  of  the  sunset-fire  a  horse  and  rider  were  seen 
slowly  approaching  the  island  grove. 


FOR  LINCOLN'S  SAKE.  249 

"  It  is  Waubeno,"  said  one  to  the  other.  "  The  horse  is  dis- 
abled." 

The  people  went  out  to  meet  the  Indian  boy.  The  horse 
was  burned  and  blind,  and  staggered  as  he  came  on.  And  the 
rider  !  He  had  drawn  the  flames  into  his  vitals  ;  he  had  been 
internally  burned,  and  was  dying. 

He  reeled  from  his  blind  horse,  and  fell  before  the  people. 
Jasper  laid  his  hand  upon  him. 

"  Father,  I  have  drunk  the  cup  of  fire.  I  have  kept  my 
promise.  I  am  about  to  die.  The  birds  are  happy.  They  are 
singing  the  death-song  of  Waubeno." 

His  flesh  quivered  as  he  lay  there,  and  Jasper  bent  over  him 
in  pity. 

"  Waubeno,  do  you  suffer  ?  " 

"  The  stars  do  not  complain,  white  brother.  The  clouded 
sun  does  not  complain.  The  winds  complain,  and  the  waters, 
and  women  and  children.  Waubeno  does  not  complain." 

A  spasm  shook  his  frame.     It  passed. 

"  White  brother,  go  beyond  the  Mississippi  and  teach  my 
people.  You  do  pity  them.  This  was  once  their  paradise. 
They  loved  it.  They  struggled.  Go  to  them  with  the  Book  of 
God." 

"  Waubeno,  I  will  go." 

"  The  sun  sets  over  the  Mississippi.  'Tis  sunset  there.  You 
will  go  to  the  land  of  the  sunset  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Waubeno.  I  feel  in  my  heart  the  call  to  go.  I  love 
and  pity  your  people." 

"  Pour  water  upon  me ;  I  am  burning.  I  shall  go  when  the 
moon  comes  up,  when  the  moon  comes  up  into  the  shady  sky. 


250  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

My  father  suffered,  but  he  did  not  complain.  Waubeno  does 
not  complain.  Don't  pity  me.  Pity  my  poor  people.  I  love 
my  people.  Teach  my  people,  and  cover  me  forever  with  a 
blanket  of  the  earth." 

He  lay  on  the  cool  grass  under  the  trees  for  several  hours  in 
terrible  agony,  and  the  people  watched  by  his  side. 

"  When  the  moon  rises,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  go.  I  shall  never 
see  the  Eed  Man's  Paradise  again.  Tell  me  when  the  moon 
rises.  I  am  going  to  sleep  now." 

The  great  moon  rose  at  last,  its  disk  hanging  like  a  wheel  of 
dead  gold  on  the  verge  of  the  horizon  in  the  smoky  air. 

"  Waubeno,"  said  Jasper,  "  the  moon  is  rising." 

He  opened  his  eyes,  and  said ; 

"  We  kindled  the  fire  for  our  fathers'  sake,  and  I  smote  it  for 
him  who  protected  Main-Pogue.  What  was  his  name,  father? 
Say  it  to  me." 

"  Lincoln." 

"  Yes,  Lincoln.  He  had  come  for  revenge,  but  he  did  what 
was  right.  He  forgave.  I  forgive  everybody.  I  drank  the  fire 
for  Lincoln's  sake." 

The  moon  burned  along  the  sky ;  the  stars  came  out ;  and 
at  midnight  all  was  still.  Waubeno  lay  dead  under  the  trees, 
and  the  people  with  timid  steps  vanished  hither  and  thither 
into  the  cabins  and  sheds. 

They  killed  the  poor  blind  horse  in  the  morning,  and  laid 
Waubeno  to  rest  in  a  blanket,  in  a  grave  under  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN." 

IFTEEN  years  have  passed  since  the  events  de- 
scribed in  the  last  chapter.  It  is  the  year  1860. 
A  great  political  crisis  is  upon  the  country,  and 
Abraham  Lincoln  has  been  selected  to  lead  one 
great  party  of  the  people,  because  he  had  faith 
in  the  principle  that  right  is  might.  The  time  came,  as  the 
Tunker  had  prophesied,  when  the  people  wanted  a  man  of  in- 
tegrity for  their  leader — a  man  who  had  a  heart  that  could  be 
trusted.  They  elected  him  to  the  Legislature  when  he  was 
almost  a  boy  and  had  not  decent  clothes  to  wear.  The  young 
legislator  walked  over  the  prairies  of  Illinois  to  the  Capitol  to 
save  the  traveling  fare.  As  a  legislator  he  had  faith  that  right 
is  might,  and  was  true  to  his  convictions. 

"  He  has  a  heart  that  we  can  trust,"  said  the  people,  and 
they  sent  him  to  Congress.  He  was  true  in  Washington,  as  in 
Illinois. 

"  He  has  a  heart  we  can  trust,"  said  the  people ;  "  let  us 
send  him  to  the  Senate." 

He  failed  of  an  election,  but  it  was  because  his  convictions 
of  right  were  in  advance  of  the  public  mind  at  the  time ;  but 
he  who  is  defeated  for  a  principle,  triumphs.  The  greatest 

(251) 


252  !N  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

victors  are  those  who  are  vanquished  in  the  cause  of  truth, 
justice,  and  right;  for  the  cause  lives,  and  they  live  in  the 
cause  that  must  prevail. 

Again  the  people  wanted  a  leader— all  the  people  who  repre- 
sented a  great  cause — and  Illinois  said  to  the  people : 

"  Make  our  Lincoln  your  leader ;  he  has  a  heart  that  we 
can  trust,"  and  Lincoln  was  made  the  heart  of  the  people  in 
the  great  cause  of  human  rights.  Lincoln,  who  had  defended 
the  little  animals  of  the  woods.  Lincoln,  who  had  been  true 
to  his  pioneer  father,  when  the  experience  had  cost  him  years 
of  toilsome  life.  Lincoln,  who  had  pitied  the  slave  in  the  New 
Orleans  market,  and  whose  soul  had  cried  to  Heaven  for  the 
scales  of  Justice.  Lincoln,  who  had  protected  the  old  Indian 
amid  the  gibes  of  his  comrades.  Lincoln,  who  had  studied  by 
pine-knots,  made  poetry  on  old  shovels,  and  read  law  on  lone- 
ly roads.  Lincoln,  who  had  had  a  kindly  word  and  pleasant 
story  for  everybody,  pitied  everybody,  loved  everybody,  and 
forgave  everybody,  and  yet  carried  a  sad  heart.  Lincoln,  who 
had  resolved  that  in  law  and  politics  he  would  do  just 
right. 

John  Hanks  had  brought  some  of  the  rails  that  the  candi- 
date for  the  presidency  had  split  into  the  Convention  of  Illi- 
nois, and  the  rails  that  represented  the  hardships  of  pioneer 
life  became  the  oriflamme  of  the  leader  from  the  prairies. 
He  who  is  true  to  a  nation  is  first  true  to  his  parents  and 
home. 

That  was  an  ever-to-be-remembered  day  when,  in  August, 
1860,  the  people  of  the  great  "West  with  one  accord  arranged 
to  visit  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  candidate  for  the  presidency,  at 


"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN."  253 

Springfield,  Illinois.  Seventy  thousand  strangers  poured  into 
the  prairie  city.  They  came  from  Indiana,  Iowa,  and  the 
lakes.  Thousands  came  from  Chicago.  Men  came  in  wagons, 
bringing  their  wives  and  children.  They  brought  tents,  camp- 
kettles,  and  coffee-pots.  Says  a  graphic  writer  who  saw  the 
scene : 

"  Every  road  leading  to  the  city  is  crowded  for  twenty  miles 
with  vehicles.  The  weather  is  fine,  and  a  little  overwarm. 
Girls  can  dress  in  white,  and  bare  their  arms  and  necks  without 
danger;  the  women  can  bring  their  children.  Everything 
that  was  ever  done  at  any  other  mass-meeting  is  done  here. 
Locomotive-builders  are  making  a  boiler;  blacksmiths  are 
heating  and  hammering  their  irons ;  the  iron-founders  are 
molding  their  patterns  ;  the  rail-splitters  are  showing  the  peo- 
ple how  Uncle  Abe  used  to  split  rails ;  every  other  town  has  its 
wagon-load  of  thirty-one  girls  in  white  to  represent  the  States ; 
bands  of  music,  numerous  almost  as  those  of  McClellan  on 
Arlington  Heights  in  1862,  are  playing  ;  old  men  of  the  War  of 
1812,  with  their  old  wives,  their  children,  grandchildren,  and 
great-grandchildren,  are  here:  making  a  procession  of  human 
beings,  horses,  and  carriages  not  less  than  ten  miles  in  length. 
And  yet  the  procession  might  have  left  the  town  and  the 
people  would  scarcely  be  missed. 

"  There  is  an  immense  wigwam,  with  galleries  like  a  thea- 
tre ;  but  there  are  people  enough  not  in  the  procession  to  fill 
a  dozen  like  it.  Half  an  hour  is  long  enough  to  witness  the 
moving  panorama  of  men  and  women,  horses,  carriages,  rep- 
resentatives of  trades,  mottoes,  and  burlesques,  and  listen  to 
the  bands." 


254:  E*  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

And  among  those  who  came  to  see  the  great  procession, 
the  rail-splitters,  and  the  sights,  were  the  Tunker  from  the 
Indian  schools  over  the  Mississippi,  and  Aunt  Indiana  from 
Indiana. 

There  was  a  visitor  from  the  East  who  became  the  hero 
of  the  great  day.  He  is  living  now  (1891)  in  Chelsea,  Mass., 
near  the  Soldiers'  Home,  to  which  he  often  goes  to  sing,  and  is 
known  there  as  "  Father  Locke."  He  was  a  natural  minstrel, 
and  songs  of  his,  like  "  Down  hy  the  Sea,"  have  been  sung  all 
over  the  world.  One  of  his  songs  has  moved  thousands  of 
hearts  in  sorrow,  and  pictures  his  own  truly  loving  and  beauti- 
ful soul : 

"  There's  a  fresh  little  mound  near  the  willow, 

Where  at  evening  I  wander  and  weep ; 
There's  a  dear  vacant  spot  on  my  pillow, 

Where  a  sweet  little  face  used  to  sleep. 
There  were  pretty  blue  eyes,  but  they  slumber 

In  silence,  beneath  the  dark  mold, 
And  the  little  pet  lamb  of  our  number 

Has  gone  to  the  heavenly  fold." 

This  man,  with  the  approval  of  President  Lincoln,  went  as 
a  minstrel  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  We  think  that  he  was 
the  only  minstrel  who  followed  our  army,  like  the  war-singers 
of  old.  In  a  book  published  for  private  use,  entitled  Three 
Years  in  Camp  and  Hospital,  "  Father  Locke  "  thus  tells  the 
story  of  his  interview  with  President  Lincoln  at  the  White 
House : 

"  Giving  his  hand,  and  saying  he  recollected  me,  he  asked 
what  he  could  do  for  me. 

"  *  I  want  no  office,  Mr.  President.    I  came  to  ask  for  one,  but 


"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN."  255 

have  changed  my  mind  since  coming  into  this  house.  When  it 
comes  to  turning  beggar,  I  shall  shun  the  places  where  all  the 
other  beggars  go.  I  am  going  to  the  army  to  sing  for  the  sol- 
diers, as  the  poets  and  balladists  of  old  sang  in  war.  Our  sol- 
diers must  take  as  much  interest  in  songs  and  singing  as  did 
those  of  ancient  times.  I  only  wished  to  shake  hands  with  you, 
and  obtain  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  the  commanding 
officers,  that  they  may  receive  and  treat  me  kindly.' 

" '  I  will  give  you  a  letter  with  pleasure,  but  you  do  not 
need  one ;  your  singing  will  make  you  all  right.' 

"  On  my  rising  to  leave,  he  gave  his  hand,  saying :  '  God 
bless  you ;  I  am  glad  you  do  not  want  an  office.  Go  to  the 
army,  and  cheer  the  men  around  their  camp-fires  with  your 
songs,  remembering  that  a  great  man  said,  "  Let  me  but  make 
the  songs  of  a  nation,  and  I  care  not  who  makes  its  laws."  '  " 

The  President  then  told  him  how  to  secure  a  pass  into  the 
lines  of  the  army,  and  the  man  went  forth  to  write  and  to  sing 
his  inspirations,  like  a  balladist  of  old. 

His  songs  were  the  delight  of  many  camps  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  in  the  first  dark  year  of  the  war.  They  were  sung 
in  the  camp,  and  they  belonged  to  the  inside  army  life,  but 
were  little  known  outside  of  the  army.  They  are  still  fondly 
remembered  by  the  veterans,  and  are  sung  at  reunions  and 
camp-fires. 

We  give  one  of  these  songs  and  its  original  music  here.  It 
has  the  spirit  of  the  time  and  the  events,  and  every  note  is  a 
pulse-beat : 


256 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 


tOe  are  #lard)ing  on  to  tUctjmonb. 

WORDS  AND  Music  BY  E.  W.  LOCKE. 

Published  by  the  permission  of  the  Composer. 


m 


>: 


1.  Our  knapsacks  sling  and  blithely  sing,  We're  marching  on      to 

2.  Our  foes  are  near.their  drums  we  hear,  They're  camped  a- bout  in 


1  ' 

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Rich-mond;  With  weap-ons  bright,  and  hearts  so    light,  We're 
Rich-rnond ;  With  pick  -  ets     out,     to       tell    the     route  Our 


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-*— =- 


•*— ! — » 9—r 


song  be-guile,  We're  marching  on     to  Richmond;  The  roads  are 
meet  our  blows, No  doubt  they  11  fight  for  Richmond;  The  brave  may 


rough,  but  smooth  e-nough     To  take    us    safe     to    Richmond, 
die,      but  nev  -  er    fly,      We'll  cut    our  way     to    Richmond. 


CHORUS. 


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Then    tramp    a  -  way    while  the        bu  -    gles      play,  We're 


OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN." 


257 


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morn-  ing    beam,  From  man  -j      a      spire    in     Rich-mond. 


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3. 

"  But  yesterday,  in  murderous  fray, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond, 
"We  parted  here  from  comrades  dear, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond ; 
With  manly  sighs  and  tearful  eyes, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond, 
We  laid  the  braves  in  peaceful  graves, 

And  started  on  to  Richmond. 


"  Our  friends  away  are  sad  to-day, 

Because  we  march  to  Richmond ; 
With  loving  fear  they  shrink  to  hear 

About  our  march  to  Richmond ; 
The  pen  shall  tell  that  they  who  fell 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond, 
Had  hearts  aglow  and  face  to  foe, 

And  died  in  sight  of  Richmond. 


258  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 


"  Our  thoughts  shall  roam  to  scenes  of  home, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond ; 
The  vacant  chair  that's  waiting  there, 

While  we  march  on  to  Richmond ; 
'Twill  not  be  long  till  shout  and  song 

We'll  raise  aloud  in  Richmond, 
And  war's  rude  blast  will  soon  be  past, 

And  we'll  go  home  from  Richmond." 

This  song-writer  had  brought  a  song  to  the  great  Spring- 
field assembly.  He  sang  it  when  the  people  were  in  a  recep- 
tive mood.  It  voiced  their  hearts,  and  its  influence  was 
electric.  As  he  rose  before  the  assembly  on  that  August  day 
under  the  prairie  sun,  and  sang  :  "  Hark !  hark  !  a  signal-gun  is 
heard,"  a  stillness  came  over  the  great  sea  of  the  people.  The 
figures  of  the  first  verse  filled  the  imagination,  but  the  chorus 
was  like  a  bugle-call : 

"THE  SHIP  OF  STATE. 
"  (Sung  at  the  Springfield  Convention.) 

"  Hark !  hark  !  a  signal-gun  is  heard, 

Just  out  beyond  the  fort ; 
The  good  old  Ship  of  State,  my  boys, 

Is  coming  into  port. 
With  shattered  sails,  and  anchors  gone, 

1  fear  the  rogues  will  strand  her ; 
She  carries  now  a  sorry  crew, 

And  needs  a  new  commander. 

"  Our  Lincoln  is  the  man  1 
Our  Lincoln  is  the  man ! 
With  a  sturdy  mate 
From  the  Pine-Tree  State, 
Our  Lincoln  is  the  man  ! 


"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN."  259 

"  Four  years  ago  she  put  to  sea, 

With  prospects  brightly  beaming ; 
Her  hull  was  strong,  her  sails  new-bent, 

And  every  pennant  streaming ; 
She  loved  the  gale,  she  plowed  the  waves, 

Nor  feared  the  deep's  commotion ; 
Majestic,  nobly  on  she  sailed, 

Proud  mistress  of  the  ocean. 

"  There's  mutiny  aboard  the  ship ; 

There's  feud  no  force  can  smother ; 
Their  blood  is  up  to  fever-heat ; 

They're  cutting  down  each  other. 
Buchanan  here,  and  Douglas  there, 

Are  belching  forth  their  thunder, 
While  cunning  rogues  are  sly  at  work 

In  pocketing  the  plunder. 

"  Our  ship  is  badly  out  of  trim  ; 

'Tis  time  to  calk  and  grave  her ; 
She's  foul  with  stench  of  human  gore ; 

They've  turned  her  to  a  slaver. 
She's  cruised  about  from  coast  to  coast, 

The  flying  bondman  hunting, 
Until  she's  strained  from  stem  to  stern, 

And  lost  her  sails  and  bunting. 

"  Old  Abram  is  the  man  ! 
Old  Abram  is  the  man ! 

And  he'll  trim  her  sails, 

As  he  split  the  rails. 
Old  Abram  is  the  man ! 

"  We'll  give  her  what  repairs  she  needs — 

A  thorough  overhauling ; 
Her  sordid  crew  shall  be  dismissed, 

To  seek  some  honest  calling. 
Brave  Lincoln  soon  shall  take  the  helm, 

On  truth  and  right  relying ; 
In  calm  or  storm,  in  peace  or  war, 

He'll  keep  her  colors  flying. 


IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  Old  Abram  is  the  man  I 
Old  Abrain  is  the  man  I 
With  a  sturdy  mate 
From  the  Pine-Tree  State, 
Old  Abram  is  the  man  ! " 

These  words  seem  commonplace  to-day,  but  they  were 
trumpet-notes  then.  "  Our  Lincoln  is  the  man ! "  trembled  on 
every  tongue,  and  a  tumultuous  applause  arose  that  shook  the 
air.  The  enthusiasm  grew ;  the  minstrel  had  voiced  the  people, 
and  they  would  not  let  him  stop  singing.  They  finally  mounted 
him  on  their  shoulders  and  carried  him  about  in  triumph,  like 
a  victor  bard  of  old.  Ever  rang  the  chorus  from  the  lips  of  the 
people,  "  Our  Lincoln  is  the  man  ! "  "  Old  Abram  is  the  man ! " 

Lincoln  heard  the  song.  He  loved  songs.  One  of  his 
favorite  songs  was  "Twenty  Years  ago."  But  this  was  the 
first  time,  probably,  that  he  had  heard  himself  sung.  He  was 
living  at  that  time  in  the  plain  house  in  Springfield  that  has 
been  made  familiar  by  pictures.  The  song  delighted  him,  but 
he,  of  all  the  thousands,  was  forbidden  .by  his  position  to  express 
his  pleasure  in  the  song.  He  would  have  liked  to  join  with  the 
multitudes  in  singing  "  Our  Lincoln  is  the  man  ! "  had  not  the 
situation  sealed  his  lips.  But  after  the  scene  was  over,  and  the 
great  mass  of  people  began  to  melt  away,  he  sought  the  min- 
strel, and  said : 

"  Come  to  my  room,  and  sing  to  me  the  song  privately.  / 
want  to  hear  you  sing  it." 

So  he  listened  to  it  in  private,  while  it  was  being  borne  over 
the  prairies  on  tens  of  thousands  of  lips.  Did  he  then  dream 
that  the  nations  would  one  day  sing  the  song  of  his  achieve- 
ments, that  his  death  would  be  tolled  by  the  bells  of  all  lands, 


"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN."  261 

and  his  dirge  fill  the  churches  of  Christendom  with  tears  ?  It 
may  have  been  that  his  destiny  in  dim  outline  rose  before  him, 
for  the  events  of  his  life  were  hurrying. 

Aunt  Indiana  was  there,  and  she  found  the  Tunker. 

"The  land  o'  sakes  and  daisies!"  she  said.  "That  we 
should  both  be  here !  "Well,  elder,  I  give  it  up  !  I  was  agin 
Lincoln  until  I  heard  all  the  people  a-singin'  that  song  ;  then 
it  came  over  me  that  I  was  doin'  just  what  I  hadn't  ought  to, 
and  I  began  to  sing  '  Old  Lincoln  is  the  man  ! '  just  as  though 
it  had  been  a  Methody  hymn  written  by  "Wesley  himself." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  changed  your  mind,  and  that  I 
have  lived  to  see  my  prophecy,  that  Lincoln  would  become  the 
heart  of  the  people,  fulfilled." 

"  Elder,  I  tell  you  what  let's  we  do." 

"  What,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"  Let's  we  each  get  a  rail,  and  go  down  before  Abe's  win- 
der, and  I'll  sing  as  loud  as  anybody  : 

"  '  Old  Abram  is  the  man ! 
Old  Abram  is  the  man ! 

And  he'll  trim  her  sails 

As  he  split  the  rails. 
Old  Abram  is  the  man ! ' 

111  do  it,  if  you  will.  I've  been  all  wrong  from  the  first.  Why, 
even  the  Grigsbys  are  goin'  to  vote  for  him,  and  I'm  goin'  to 
do  the  right  thing  myself.  Abe  always  had  a  human  heart, 
and  it  is  that  which  is  the  most  human  that  leads  off  in  this 
world." 

Aunt  Indiana  found  a  rail.  The  streets  of  Springfield  were 
full  of  rails  that  the  people  had  brought  in  honor  of  Lincoln's 


262  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OF  LINCOLN. 

hard  work  on  his  father's  barn  in  early  Illinois.  She  also  found  a 
flag.  Flags  were  as  many  as  rails  on  this  remarkable  occasion. 
She  set  the  flag  into  the  top  of  the  rail,  and  started  for  the 
street  that  led  past  Lincoln's  door. 

"  Come  on,  elder ;  we'll  be  a  procession  all  by  ourselves." 
The  two  arrived  at  the  house  where  Lincoln  lived,  the 
Tunker  in  his  buttonless  gown,  and  Aunt  Indiana  with  her 
corn-bonnet,  printed  shawl,  rail,  and  flag.  The  procession  of 
two  came  to  a  halt  before  the  open  window,  and  presently, 
framed  in  the  open  window,  like  a  picture,  the  face  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  appeared.  That  face  lighted  up  as  it  fell  upon 
Aunt  Indiana. 

She  made  a  low  courtesy,  and  lifted  the  rail  and  the  flag, 
and  broke  forth  in  a  tone  that  would  have  led  a  camp-meet- 
ing: 

" '  Our  Abram  is  the  man ! 
Our  Abram  is  the  man ! 

With  a  sturdy  mate 

From  the  Pine-Tree  State, 
Our  Abram  is  the  man ! ' 

"  Elder,  you  sing,  and  we'll  go  over  it  again." 
Aunt  Indiana  waved  the  flag  and  sang  the  refrain  again, 
and  said : 

"  Abe  Lincoln,  I'm  goin'  to  vote  for  ye,  though  I  never 
thought  I  should.  But  you  shall  have  my  vote  with  all  the 
rest. — Lawdy  sakes  and  daisies,  elder — I  forgot ;  I  can't  vote, 
can  I  ?  I'm  just  a  woman.  I've  got  all  mixed  up  and  carried 
away,  but 

" '  Our  Abram  is  the  man ! ' " 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

From  a  photograph  by  Alexander  Hester,  Chicago,  185S. 


"OUR  LINCOLN  IS  THE  MAN."  263 

Six  years  have  passed.  The  gardens  of  "Washington  are 
bursting  into  bloom.  The  sky  is  purple  under  a  clear  sun.  It 
is  Wednesday  morning,  the  19th  of  April,  1865. 

All  the  bells  are  tolling,  and  the  whole  city  is  robed  in 
black.  At  eleven  o'clock  some  sixty  clergymen  enter  the  "White 
House,  followed  by  the  governors  of  the  States.  At  noon 
comes  the  long  procession  of  Government  officers,  followed  by 
the  diplomatic  corps. 

In  the  sable  rooms  rises  a  dark  catafalque,  and  in  it  lies  a 
waxen  face. 

Toll ! — the  bells  of  Washington,  Georgetown,  and  Alexan- 
dria !  Minute-guns  boom.  Around  that  dead  face  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  nation,  and  of  all  nations,  pass,  and  tears  fall 
like  rain. 

A  funeral  car  of  flowers  moves  through  the  streets.  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  has  done  his  work.  He  is  on  his  journey  back 
to  the  scenes  of  his  childhood !  The  boy  who  defended  the 
turtles,  the  man  who  stretched  out  his  arm  over  the  defenseless 
Indian  in  the  Black  Hawk  War,  and  who  freed  the  slave ;  the 
man  of  whom  no  one  ever  asked  pity  in  vain — he  is  going 
back  to  the  prairies,  to  sleep  his  eternal  sleep  among  the 
violets. 

Toll!  The  bells  of  all  the  cities  and  towns  of  the  loyal 
nation  are  tolling.  In  every  principal  church  in  all  the  land 
people  have  met  to  weep  and  to  pray.  Half-mast  flags  every- 
where meet  the  breeze. 

They  laid  the  body  beneath  the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol, 
amid  the  April  flowers  and  broken  magnolias. 

Then  homeward — through  Baltimore,  robed  in  black; 
18 


264  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

through  Philadelphia,  through  New  York,  Cleveland,  Indi- 
anapolis, and  Chicago.  The  car  rolls  on,  over  flowers  and 
under  black  flags,  amid  the  tolling  of  the  bells  of  cities  and 
the  bells  of  the  simple  country  church-towers.  All  labor 
ceases.  The  whole  people  stop  to  wonder  and  to  weep. 

The  dirges  cease.  The  muffled  drums  are  still.  The 
broken  earth  of  the  prairies  is  wrapped  around  the  dead 
commoner,  the  fallen  apostle  of  humanity,  the  universal 
brother  of  all  who  toil  and  struggle. 

The  courts  of  Europe  join  in  the  lamentation.  Never  yet 
was  a  man  wept  like  this  man. 

His  monument  ennobles  the  world.  He  stands  in  eternal 
bronze  in  a  hundred  cities.  And  why?  Because  he  had  a 
heart  to  feel;  because  to  him  all  men  had  been  brothers  of 
equal  blood  and  birthright ;  and  because  he  had  had  faith  that 

"RIGHT   MAKES   MIGHT." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AT  THE  LAST. 

EOM  the  magnolias  to  the  Northern  orchards, 
from  the  apple-blooms  to  the  prairie  violets ! 
The   casket  was  laid  in  the  tomb.     Twilight 
came ;  the  multitudes  had  gone.     It  was  ended 
now,  and  night  was  falling. 
Two  forms  stood  beside  the  closed  door  of  the  tomb ;  one 
was  an  old,  gray-haired  woman,  the  other  was  a  patriarchal- 
looking  man. 

The  woman's  gray  hairs  blew  about  her  white  face  like 
silver  threads,  and  she  pushed  it  back  with  her  withered 
hand. 

"  Sister  Olive,"  said  the  old  man,  "  he  loved  others  better 
than  himself ;  and  it  is  not  this  tomb,  but  the  great  heart  of 
the  world,  that  has  taken  him  in.  I  felt  that  he  was  called.  I 
felt  it  years  ago." 

"  Heaven  forgive  a  poor  old  woman,  elder !  I  misjudged  that 
man.  See  here." 

She  held  up  a  bunch  of  half-withered  prairie  violets  tha 
she  had  carried  about  with  her  all  the  day,  and  then  went  and 
laid  them  on  the  tomb. 


266  IN  THE  BOYHOOD  OP  LINCOLN. 

"  For  Lincoln's  sake !  for  Lincoln's  sake ! "  she  said,  crying 
like  a  child. 

The  two  went  away  in  the  shadows,  talking  of  all  the  past, 
and  each  has  long  slept  under  the  violets  of  the  prairies. 


THE   E5TD. 


C 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

GOOD  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  READERS. 
ROWDED    OUT   O'    CROFIELD.     By  WILLIAM 

O.  STODDARD.  The  story  of  a  country  boy  who  fought  his  way 
to  success  in  the  great  metropolis.  With  23  Illustrations  by 
C.  T.  HILL. 

"  There  are  few  writers  who  know  how  to  meet  the  tastes  and  needs  of  boys  better 
than  does  William  O.  Stoddard.  This  excellent  story  is  interesting,  thoroughly  whole- 
some, and  teaches  boys  to  be  men,  not  prigs  or  Indian  hunters.  If  our  boys  would 
read  more  such  books,  and  less  of  the  blood-and-thunder  order,  it  would  be  rare  good 
fortune."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 


TOM  AND  THE  R  UNA  WA  YS.  By  Louis 
PENDLKTON.  The  experiences  of  two  boys  in  the  forests  of 
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"  The  doings  of  '  King  '  Tom,  Albert,  and  the  happy-go-lucky  boy  Jim  on  the 
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T 


LOG    SCHOOL-HOUSE    ON    THE    CO- 

LUMBIA. By  HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH.  With  13  full- 
page  Illustrations  by  J.  CARTER  BEARD,  E.  J.  AUSTEN,  and 
others. 

"  This  book  will  charm  all  who  turn  its  pages.  There  are  few  books  of  popular 
information  concerning  the  pioneers  of  the  great  Northwest,  and  this  one  is  worthy  of 
sincere  praise."  —  Seattle  Post-Intelligencer. 

ALL.  A  story  of  out-door  life  and  adventure 
in  Arkansas.  By  OCTAVE  THANET.  With  12  full-page  Illus- 
trations by  E.  J.  AUSTEN  and  others. 

"A  story  which  every  boy  will  read  with  unalloyed  pleasure.  .  .  .  The  adventures 
of  the  two  cousins  are  full  of  exciting  interest.  The  characters,  both  white  and  black, 
are  sketched  directly  from  nature,  for  the  author  is  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  customs 
and  habits  of  the  different  types  of  Southerners  that  she  has  so  effectively  reproduced." 
—  Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

ITTLE  SMOKE.      A  story  of  the  Sioux  Indians, 
By  WILLIAM  O.  STODDARD.     With  12  full-page  Illustrations  by 
F.  S.  DELLENBAUGH,  portraits  of  Sitting  Bull,  Red  Cloud,  and 
other  chiefs,    and  72   head  and  tail   pieces   representing  the 
various  implements  and  surroundings  of  Indian  life. 
"  It  is  not  only  a  story  of  adventure,  but  the  volume  abounds  in  information  con- 
cerning this  most  powerful  of  remaining  Indian  tribes.     The  work  of  the  author  has 
been  well  supplemented  by  the  artist."—  Boston  Traveller. 

"  More  elaborately  illustrated  than  any  juvenile  work  dealing  with  Indian  life  ever 
published.  "—Churchman. 

Uniform  binding,  cloth,  silver.     8vo.     $1.50  each. 
New  York:   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

YOUNG    HEROES    OF    OUR    NAVY. 
T\/TIDSHIPMAN  PA  ULDING.     A  true  story  of  the 
1VJ.    War  of  1812.    By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL,  author  of  "  Little 
Jarvis."     With  Six  full-page  Illustrations  by  J.  O.  DAVIDSON 
and  GEORGE  WHARTON  EDWARDS.    8vo.    Bound  in  blue  cloth, 
with  special  design  in  gold  and  colors.     $1.00. 

"  The  book  gives  an  excellent  description  of  the  battle  of  Lake  Champlain,  told  in 
such  interesting  style,  and  so  well  blended  with  personal  adventure,  tha^  every  boy  will 
delight  to  read  it,  and  will  unavoidably  remember  its  main  features." — Springfield 
Union. 

"  The  story  is  told  in  a  breery,  pleasant  style  that  can  not  fail  to  capture  the  fancy 
of  young  readers,  and  imparts  much  historical  knowledge  at  the  same  time,  while  the 
illustrations  will  help  the  understanding  of  the  events  described.  It  is  an  excellent 
book  for  boys,  and  even  the  girls  will  be  interested  in  it." — Brooklyn  Standard-Union. 

"  The  author  knows  how  to  tell  her  stories  to  captivate  the  boys,  and  the  character 
of  her  young  heroes  is  such  as  to  elevate  and  ennoble  the  reader." — Hartford  Even- 
ing Post. 

"  Young  Paulding  is  a  striking  character,  and  his  story  is  fascinating  and  inspiring. 
The  work  has  a  historical  basis,  and  is  as  instructive  as  it  is  entertaining." — Indian- 
apolis Sentinel. 

ITTLE  JARVIS.  The  story  of  the  heroic  mid- 
shipman  of -the  frigate  "Constellation."  By  MOLLY  ELLIOT 
SEAWELL.  With  Six  full-page  Illustrations  by  J.  O.  DAVID- 
SON and  GEORGE  WHARTON  EDWARDS.  8vo.  Bound  uni- 
formly with  "  Midshipman  Paulding."  $i.OO. 

"  Founded  on  a  true  incident  in  our  naval  history.  ...  So  well  pictured  as  to 
bring  both  smiles  and  tears  upon  the  faces  that  are  bent  over  the  volume.  It  is  in  ex- 
actly the  spirit  for  a  boy's  book." — New  York  Home  Journal. 

"  Little  Jarvis  was  a  manly,  jolly  little  midshipman  on  board  the  good  ship  '  Con- 
stellation,' in  the  year  1800 ;  so  full  of  pranks  that  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the 
cross-trees  and  lived  prepared  for  this  inevitable  fate,  with  a  book  in  one  pocket  and  a 
piece  of  hard-tack  in  the  other.  .  .  .  His  boyish  ambition  was  to  smell  powder  in  a  real 
battle,  to  meet  and  conquer  a  live  French  man-of-war.  It  would  be  unfair  to  the  reader 
to  tell  how  Little  Jarvis  conducted  himself  when  at  length  the  '  Constellation '  grappled 
with  the  frigate  '  Vengeance  '  in  deadly  combat " — Providence  Journal. 

"  The  author  makes  the  tale  strongly  and  simply  pathetic,  and  has  given  the  world 
what  will  make  it  better." — Hartford  Courant. 

"Not  since  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hate's  classic,  'The  Man  without  a  Country,' 
has  there  been  published  a  more  stirring  lesson  in  patriotism." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  what  a  boy  would  call  '  a  real  boy's  book." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"This  is  the  stoty  which  received  the  prize  of  five  hundred  dollars  offered  by 
the  Youth's  Companion.  It  was  worthy  the  distinction  accorded  it." — Philadelphia 
Telegraph. 

"  It  is  well  to  multiply  such  books,  that  we  may  awaken  in  the  youth  that  read 
them  the  spirit  of  devotion  to  duty  of  which  Little  Jarvis  is  a  type.  We  shall  some 
day  have  need  of  it  all." — Army  and  Navy  Journal. 

_  "  Any  one  in  search  of  a  thoroughly  good  book  for  boys  need  look  no  further,  for 
this  ranks  among  the  very  best." — Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  I,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


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D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


TRAIGHT  ON.     A  story  of  a  boy's  school-life  in 

France.     By  the  author   of  "The  Story  of  Colette."     With 

86  Illustrations  by  Edouard  Zier.  320  pages.      8vo.     Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  It  is  long  since  we  have  encountered  a  story  for  children  which  we  can  recom- 
mend more  cordially.  It  is  good  all  through  and  in  every  respect." — Charleston 
News  and  Courier. 

"  A  healthful  tale  of  a  French  school-boy  who  suffers  the  usual  school-boy  persecu- 
tion, and  emerges  from  his  troubles  a  hero.  The  illustrations  are  bright  and  well 
drawn,  and  the  translation  is  excellently  done." — Boston  Commercial  Bulletin. 

"  A  real  story-book  of  the  sort  which  is  difficult  to  lay  down,  having  once  begun  it. 
It  is  fully  illustrated  and  handsomely  bound." — Buffalo  Courier. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  exceptional  merit,  and  its  delightful  interest  never  flags." — 
Chicago  Herald. 


ILLUSTRATED  EDITION  OF  "COLETTE." 


STORY  OF  COLETTE,  a  new,  large-paper 
*•        edition.     With  36  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  great  popularity  which  this  book  has  attained  in  its  smaller  form  has 
led  the  publishers  to  issue  an  illustrated  edition,  with  thirty-six  original 
drawings  by  Jean  Claude,  both  vignette  and  full-page. 

"  This  is  a  capital  translation  of  a  charming  novel.  It  is  bright,  witty,  fresh,  and 
humorous.  '  The  Story  of  Colette  *  is  a  fine  example  of  what  a  French  novel  can  be, 
and  all  should  be."  —  Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"  Colette  is  French  and  the  story  is  French,  and  both  are  exceedingly  pretty.  The 
story  is  as  pure  and  refreshingas  the  innocent  yet  sighing  gayety  of  Colette's  life."  — 
Providence  Journal. 

"A  charming  little  story,  molded  on  the  simplest  lines,  thoroughly  pure,  and  ad- 
mirably constructed.  It  is  told  with  a  wonderful  lightness  and  raciness.  It  is  full  of 
little  skillful  touches,  such  as  French  literary  art  at  its  best  knows  so  well  how  to  pro- 
duce. It  is  characterized  by  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  a  mastery  of  style  and 
method  which  indicate  that  it  is  the  work  rather  of  a  master  than  of  a  novice.  .  .  .  Who- 
ever the  author  of  'Colette  '  may  be,  there  can  be  no  question  that  it  is  one  of  the  pret- 
tiest, most  artistic,  and  in  every  way  charming  stories  that  French  fiction  has  been 
honored  with  for  a  long  time."  —  New  York  Tribune. 


H 


ERMINE'S  TRIUMPHS.  A  Story  for  Girls  and 
Boys.  By  MADAME  COLOMB.  With  100  Illustrations.  8vo. 
Cloth. 

The  popularity  of  this  charming  story  of  French  home  life,  which  has 
passed  through  many  editions  in  Paris,  has  been  earned  by  the  sustained  in- 
terest of  the  narrative,  the  sympathetic  presentation  of  character,  and  the 
wholesomeness  of  the  lessons  which  are  suggested.  One  of  the  most  de- 
lightful books  for  girls  published  in  recent  years.  It  is  bound  uniformly 
with  "  Straight  On." 


New  York :  D.  APFLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


B 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

r)OYS  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  AND  ON  THE 
•^-^    PLAINS ;  or,   The  Western  Adventures  of  Tom  Smart,  Bob 
Edge,  and  Peter  Small.     By  W.  H.  RIDEING,  Member  of  the 
Geographical  Surveys  under  Lieutenant  Wheeler.     With  101 
Illustrations.     Square  8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  side  and  back,  $2.50. 
"  A  handsome  gift-book  relating  to  travel,  adventure,  and  field  sports  in  the  West." 
— New  York  Times. 

"Mr.  Rideing's  book  is  intended  for  the  edification  of  advanced  young  readers.  It 
narrates  the  adventures  of  Tom  Smart,  Bob  Edge,  and  Peter  Small,  in  their  travels 
through  the  mountainous  region  of  the  West,  principally  in  Colorado.  The  author  was 
a  member  of  the  Wheeler  expedition,  engaged  in  surveying  the  Territories,  and  his 
descriptions  of  scenery,  mining  life,  the  Indians,  games,  etc.,  are  in  a  great  measure 
derived  from  personal  observation  and  experience.  The  volume  is  handsomely  illus- 
trated, and  can  not  but  prove  attractive  to  young  readers." — Chicago  Journal. 

OYS  COASTWISE;  or,  All  Along  the  Shore.  By 
W.  H.  RIDEING.  Uniform  with  "  Boys  in  the  Mountains." 
With  numerous  Illustrations.  Illuminated  boards,  $1.75. 

"  Fully  equal  to  the  best  of  the  year's  holiday  books  for  boys.  ...  In  his  present  trip 
the  author  takes  them  among  scenes  of  the  greatest  interest  to  all  boys,  whether  resi- 
dents on  the  coast  or  inland— along  the  wharves  of  the  metropolis,  aboard  the  pilot- 
boats  for  a  cruise,  with  a  look  at  the  great  ocean  steamers,  among  the  life-saving  men, 
coast  wreckers  and  divers,  and  finally  on  a  tour  of  inspection  of  lighthouses  and  light- 
ships, and  other  interesting  phases  of  nautical  and  coast  life." — Christian  Union. 

HE  CRYSTAL  HUNTERS.  A  Boy's  Advent- 
ures in  the  Higher  Alps.  By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN,  author 
of  "In  the  King's  Name,"  "Dick  o'  the  Fens,"  etc.  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"This  is  the  boys'  favorite  author,  and  of  the  many  books  Mr.  Fenn  has  written 
for  them  this  will  please  them  the  best.  While  it  will  not  come  under  the  head  of 
sensational,  it  is  yet  full  of  life  and  of  those  stirring  adventures  which  boys  always  de- 
light in." — Christian  at  Work. 

"  English  pluck  and  Swiss  coolness  are  tested  to  the  utmost  in  these  perilous  ex- 
plorations among  the  higher  Alps,  and  quite  as  thrilling  as  any  of  the  narrow  escapes 
is  the  account  of  the  first  breathless  ascent  of  a  real  mountain-peak.  It  matters  little  to 
the  reader  whether  the  search  for  crystals  is  rewarded  or  not,  so  concerned  does  he  be- 
come for  the  fate  of  the  hunters." — Literary  World. 

OKZ?  £  ELTON:    The  JSoy  who  would  not  go  to  Sea. 
*-)      By  GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN.    With  6  full-page  Illustrations. 
I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"Who  among  the  young  story-reading  public  will  not  rejoice  at  the  sight  of  the  old 
combination,  so  often  proved  admirable — a  story  by  Manville  Fenn,  illustrated  by 
Gordon  Browne  ?  The  story,  too,  is  one  of  the  good  old  sort,  full  of  life  and  vigor, 
breeziness  and  fun.  It  begins  well  and  goes  on  better,  and  from  the  time  Syd  joins 
his  ship,  exciting  incidents  follow  each  other  in  such  rapid  and  brilliant  succession  that 
nothing  short  of  absolute  compulsion  would  induce  the  reader  to  lay  it  down."— London 
"Journal  of  Education. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


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